No Hidden Fi
by DaisyDay
Summary: Fi goes out on her first CIA mission. 'Nuff said.
1. Chapter 1

(Most characters are part of the Burn Notice universe)

**BURN NOTICE**

No Hidden Fi

Chapter 1

Fiona Glenanne hated check-ups at the doctor's office.

They had always seemed a waste of time. And right now she had other things on her mind. Lately she had been considering making an important, life-changing decision, something that concerned Michael.

And now everything had to be put on hold momentarily because of this visit.

Fi was not worried about seeing a doctor, for outside of missing a little sleep, she felt great.

The nurse had escorted her to the doctor's office and then shut the door behind her. Upon her entrance, Fi noted how her doctor looked so serious, as he peered above the opened file. He was the grandfatherly type, with white hair, pudgy body, and horned-rimmed glasses that he removed from his face as he viewed her.

Fi wondered why he wanted a private consultation with her.

The doctor knew Fi for quite a few years now, and privately categorized her as, well, _different_. She had originally been referred to him by former patient Michael Westen. Evidently, patient Westen led quite an most unconventional, dangerous life, if the doctor were to believe _half_ the things Mrs. Westen had told him during _her_ examination.

At last Dr. Jones shut the file and looked directly at Fi.

"Well, Fiona," he stated, pleasantly plastering on a smile, "Upon reading the results of your examination you truly are the picture of health…"

Yet his voice slightly faltered at the end, puzzling her.

"And?" she pushed him to continue.

He cleared his throat.

"Before I proceed, let me ask you this..." he seemed to be stalling for time, "is there…uh, anything…_unusual_ going on in your life?"

Fi couldn't fathom what he was getting at.

She shrugged her shoulders as she answered casually, "I moved in with Michael at his loft recently."

He nodded agreeably, "Congratulations..._although..._a move like that can bring on a certain amount of stress..."

Fi's expression did not look pleased with that comment.

"We're HAPPY!" Fi insisted roughly, "HAP-PY! And anyone who says otherwise will have their heads blown off. Literally."

For most people, Dr. Jacob Jones would have corrected them by telling them the word is, "figuratively", not "literally". But knowing Fi all these years, he knew not to discount what she said.

"Well, I can see by your gentle tone that you are extremely happy.." he stated drolly.

The doctor then took out a cloth and began wiping his glasses. Fi knew there was something he wasn't telling her…like…like…

She leaned forward, expecting the worst.

"Am I dying?"

She asked it like a statement.

His head shot up as he exclaimed, "Heavens no!"

He now replaced the glasses on his nose.

It was something far worse, Fi thought, a frown appearing on her forehead.

"Doctor, I'm pregnant, aren't I?"

Fi sat at the edge of the chair, waiting.

One corner of the doctor's mouth turned up, "Now, Fiona, _that_ wouldn't be such bad news now, would it?"

His grin was wiped away when he saw how thin she had pursed her lips.

"_Well?_ " Fi asked impatiently.

_Oh boy._..The doctor had trouble wording it in a way that she would take seriously.

"Fiona," he began gently, " even though you are in excellent health _physically_, I do note a certain degree of...how you say... depression. You're not quite the same as you were last year. Anything in particular troubling you?"

He watched as Fi breathed out a sigh of relief, "So I'm _not_ pregnant? I just have _depression_?_"_

As expected, she was not getting the seriousness of the matter.

"Fiona…please…depression is something you should not take lightly!"

She blinked at the unexpectedness of his statement. A myriad of thoughts seemed to run through her head.

At last she concluded, "Hmmm... now that I think about it…I haven't been sleeping well and I think it's because I haven't seen a lot of action lately…"

Dr. Jones found that hard to believe, coming from someone as attractive as Fiona.

"…and, uh, by action, do you mean in the bedroom?"

Fi sent him a cold look that would have frozen penguins, "Certainly _not_, doctor!"

She looked ready to challenge him to a duel.

He waited for Fi to continue, but it didn't look as if she would. He always knew her as someone who said very little but knew exactly what she wanted.

"Then, Fiona, let me make a suggestion," he advised, "It's important everyone lives up to their potential. If your life lacks…_action_…you might want to insert some more _excitement_ in your life. I do not want to prescribe medication at this point, but something needs to be changed in your lifestyle. Otherwise, a kind of dry rot will set in, if you will...causing an eventual disintegration of personality."

He was prepared for denial from Fi. That's what usually happened with his patients. Instead, she had the exact opposite reaction.

Fiona's entire face lit up.

"Actually, doctor, I've been thinking along that very same line myself lately!" she smiled at last, "Thank you, you've made my decision _so_ much easier!"

She almost bounced out of her chair.

Dr. Jones scowled.

"Uh, Fi, listen... by seeking..._excitement.._.you don't plan on doing anything risky or life-threatening, do you? Nothing, like, oh, I don't know... skydiving, or mountain climbing...or god forbid...bull running?"

Fi made a dismissive noise.

"Oh, nothing like that, doctor," Fi shook her head adamantly, "No, those things do not interest me _at all_!"

The doctor was relieved that he had not aided in having her do something foolish.

"Good to hear, Fiona," he nodded, "so what exactly is this plan of action you plan to take then?"

Her eyes were smiling, "_I want to be a spy!_"

.

.

The following morning, Fi drove to the CIA field office.

Surprisingly, there wasn't anything discreet about the building. It had signs everywhere indicating what went on in the building. She was surprise one of the signs didn't say, "Good spies need only to apply."

The building itself was enormous, with its various floors of glass that seemed to scream for attention.

Fi was in a glorious mood, knowing what exactly she was going to do.

She drove up to the guardhouse. Because of Michael, she has had previous dealings with Agent Dani "Kim" Pearce, so she cited that name as the person she came to see, although she had made no appointment. After checking with Agent Pearce's office, they issued her a visitor's badge. It had been so easy for her to walk through the CIA gates and guards.

Instead of heading to Agent Pearce's office, however, she stopped one floor below and headed towards the office printed with the words "CIA Recruitment Center" on its door.

The room she was ushered in proved to be small, bright and impersonal. It contained only chairs, and one table with magazines on top of it. Fi deduced correctly that it was a repository for visitors who penetrated the CIA walls without invitation.

But soon, she would be comfortably walking down these halls as a CIA operative, she thought happily.

That would be one more thing she could share with Michael. He was always leaving her for highly sensitive missions. Now they could do assignments together or better yet, she thought, she would lead the mission herself.

Fi figured if she can't beat them, why not join them?

And the best part was that everything she would be doing would actually be legal.

She walked up to the receptionist. The middle-aged receptionist was typing and barely looked up from her desk.

"Yes?" She asked, before returning to her keyboard.

"I'd like to be a CIA agent," Fi announced.

That got the woman's attention. She stopped typing pushed her glasses up, and peered at Fi.

"Excuse me, did I hear you right?" the woman had a slightly stunned look on her face, "Y-you're applying for a job here?"

"Are you hard of hearing? Yes, so I will see the director now," Fi remained standing.

The receptionist gave Fi a dismissive look, "You may be reading too many action/adventure novels, Sweetie, because that is _not_ how we recruit. But thank you for coming in and good luck with your future job search."

Then she buisily went back to her typing.

Did this receptionist really think she could just ignore me this way? Fi thought.

"Tell the director that Fiona Glenanne would like to speak to him."

When the office worker looked up again, Fi picked up one of the yellow #2 pencils and crisply broke it in two before replacing it back on the receptionist's desk. Then she picked up another pencil and held it.

That certainly made a statement.

The receptionist looked at Fi with large eyes, glanced over at the broken pencil and looked at Fi again, "And how do you spell your last name, Miss?"

Fi smiled, already enjoying the welcome she was receiving.

She felt her depression beginning to ebb away already.

.

.

Fi was shown into a rather nondescript office.

At the desk sat a distinguished-looking older male, who was reading some information off his computer. From the way he was reading the screen, it was probably some missions Fi had done with Michael, for he had a look of awe on his face. He looked at the petite woman in front of him and then back on the screen.

Finally he got up from his desk and approached her.

"Hello, Miss Glenanne, I'm Recruitment Director Guy Boysen," He carried himself like a man capable of classifying and disposing people at will.

He briskly shook her hand. But afterwards, he remained standing, as if he felt this would be a short meeting.

"So," he began, sounding very professional, "I was informed that you have in the past, worked in a civilian capacity with Agent Pearce. Somehow, you've been misdirected here. Her office is directly above ours. Allow me to direct you to the correct division..."

"No, this is the place" stated Fi confidently. She then leaned in and with a low voice announced, "I'm here to be a spy and would like an assignment by the end of the day."

His jaw dropped, "I-I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sure you are in need of agents. When can I start?" She tried to give him an "employee" smile.

Mr. Boysen looked oddly stricken, "Uh, we simply do not recruit spies this way, Miss Glenanne. I appreciate your enthusiasm but..."

"You don't recruit spies this way? Then what is the purpose of this office? " Fi wanted to know.

"Miss Glenanne, " Director Boysen tried to make it clear to her, "What I am trying to tell you is that when it comes to hiring CIA agents, usually we go looking for _you_."

"So I've just made it easier for you," she sensibly stated, "Here I am! How efficient of me! I can see already that I will be one of your top spies!"

"No you're not getting it! T-this is highly irregular!" blustered Director Boysen, quite flabbergasted.

But Fi seemed to not be listening carefully.

"Will I have to start as a junior agent?" she asked,"because I have experience, you know...demolitions, weaponry... I could demonstrate either one for you, if you will allow me to go back to my car…"

"Your _car_? N-not necessary, I assure you…" he said, not sure if she was joking or not, "Uh...Miss Glenanne...could you hold on for just a second?"

Fi smiled as she noted the sweat beading on his forehead. She liked how this was all turning out and couldn't imagine why she hadn't thought of this idea sooner.

"Alright," she complied, "a second...but not much more...I should inform you that I have a nail appointment this afternoon, so I'd like to be hired and placed in an assignment before then."

Boysen had been trained by the best to not let the opponent know what he are thinking, but it was hard to keep a poker face in this instance. This situation was beyond anything he had never encountered. He took out his handkerchief to blot his forehead, but new sweat beads reappeared almost immediately.

Walking back to his desk, he picked up his phone and immediately dialed Agent Pearce.

.

.

_Hello, I am so happy to be back! It feels as though I've been gone forever! After the silliness of my "Seymour" story, I approached this one more seriously (slightly!). It is more plot driven and obviously features Fi. I hope you enjoy it!_

_Please review_


	2. Chapter 2

Acceptance

Chapter 2

Three coffees in hand, Agent Dani "Kim" Pearce precisely walked into Recruitment Director Guy Boysen's office. She paused when she saw the new visitor. So it's true. She had not misheard Boysen.

"Hello there Miss Glenanne," Agent Pearce greeted formally.

Fi nodded, "Agent Pearce."

Their dealings with one another were considered sketchy at best, being that Agent Pearce was responsible for sending Michael away on many of his recent missions.

Nevertheless, Fi and the director gladly accepted the coffees Pearce handed them.

Agent Pearce took a seat directly next to Fi, facing the director.

"So, Guy," Pearce addressed the director, "I see Miss Glenanne is in fact here. So, is there a reason why _I_ am here?"

Pearce just assumed Fi was here to deliver a message from Michael. As Pearce casually took a sip of her coffee, the director explained.

"Miss Glenanne is determined to walk out of here a CIA_ agent_," he emphatically announced, "and being that you, Kim, have dealt with her previously...I thought, perhaps you might be able to explain better...our enrollment process...

_Gulp_

Pearce nearly choked.

Fi part of the CIA? The idea sounded preposterous to Pearce. It'll take the entire agency just to keep Glenanne in her place.

Fi didn't even blink "So…which one of you have the papers for me to sign?"

Boysen nervously cleared his throat as he turned to Pearce.

"As you can see, Agent Pearce, we seem to have a delicate situation here..." Boysen began diplomatically.

"I never considered hand-to-hand combat, tracking and weaponry to be _delicate,"_ interjected Fi, "However, if those are considered your delicate level, I am more than willing to be train in more advanced levels."

Boysen looked at Pearce as if to say, _you see what I mean_?

But Pearce was having none of this. She really did not have time in her schedule to deal with such a trite situation.

"I can't believe you called me over for_ this, _Guy_!_" Agent Pearce declared impatiently to Boysen.

Pearce had her own division to run and her latest covert operation had hit a snag. They were in need of a courier for a covert mission. This person would be posing as a tourist, acting as a middle person, to receive a drop.

A very simple assignment, really.

The problem was recruiting the right candidate for the job. Right now her candidates either were too jaded-looking, otherwise occupied, or already known to the enemy.

The stress of locating someone was getting unbearable.

"Kim..."

Boysen broke into Pearce's thoughts and silently gestured his head towards Fi, begging Pearce to act.

Agent Pearce sighed as she peered over at Fi, who sat back, casually sipping her coffee. Pearce figured it would be easier to stop the rain from falling than to deprive Fiona Glenanne of something.

Fiona Glenanne.

With her sunglasses perched on top of her head and her face wiped clean of any make- up, Fiona Glenanne looked like a typical all- American girl out and about town, not the danger-seeking woman Pearce knew.

Wait.

Something clicked in Agent Pearce's mind.

She turned and gave Fi another quick lookover The all-American single gal…the tourist/courier job! Yes! Oh Yes! Pearce shouted in her head.

There was nothing suspicious-looking about Fiona Glenanne at all. Glenanne had that right mixture of wide-eyed innocence and adventurous spirit. Pearce could scarcely believe her good fortune. Fiona Glenanne was so utterly and astonishingly right for the role!

When Agent Pearce slowly turned back to Boysen, her eyes were sparkling and her smile was wide.

Boysen recognized that look of Kim Pearce's.

"Nooooo," he responded, "Just _noooooooo_….".

But she was already addressing Fi.

"Miss Glenanne…uh, _Fiona_," Agent Pearce now had a sincere smile plastered on her face, "Do you think you might be available between the dates of June 17th to the 20th?"

Director Boysen was fiercely shaking his head.

Fi sat up, her interest peaked.

"Yes, I believe that is a strong possibility, Agent Pearce."

Pearce acknowledged, appreciating the quick response.

"Good…" Pearce looked pleased, "because I have a little job I think you can handle. Why don't we discuss it further in my office? You can go up now to my office and I'll meet you there shortly to brief you on the mission. First I need to help push through your paperwork with Director Boysen here."

As usual, Fi got exactly what she came for.

She stood up and specifically pointed to her watch, "I'll be waiting, but like I told the director, I do have a nail appointment at two…one of my nails chipped when I was picking a lock the other day."

"Of course, Miss Glenanne," assured Agent Pearce, "It'll only take a few minutes to wrap up my business with Mr. Boysen here."

"Alright," Fi agreed, as she got up.

Both Director Boysen and Agent Pearce watched Fi walking away, one thinking Fi was crazy and the other thinking Fi had been sent from heaven.

Once she was out of sight, Boysen then turned to his associate.

"Kim," Boysen was fuming, "_What the hell did you just do?"_

Pearce was looking positively radiant.

"Doing your job, Guy. I've just recruited our latest field spy!"

"You know I don't work like this!" insisted Boysen, "This isn't a styling salon…we don' take walk- ins! That is _not_ how someone applies for a job as an official CIA agent!"

"…Well, obviously _she_ is the exception," Pearce folded her arms.

"B-but you can't be serious!" Boysen sputtered, "Did you even read her file? She is unpredictable and she doesn't follow orders! Glenanne is like a walking time bomb!"

"A walking time bomb? That's quite an appropriate analogy for our new, already-trained little spy, "said Pearce lightly.

Boysen opened his mouth, closed it and stared incredulously at Pearce.

"Mark my words, you are asking for it, Kim!" he growled at last, "_You_ are hiring an inexperience person with a dubious background!"

"That's where you are wrong, Guy," Pearce stated with confidence, "Miss Glenanne is totally prepared for anything we throw her way. Believe me, I've worked with her before. And, as you know, I have always been extremely intuitive about people –almost psychic, in fact. And I am telling you now, she has the experience and the smarts."

He viewed his colleague skeptically, "Kim, you are biting off more than you can chew..."

"_Relax,_ Guy! What I will be assigning to her is a very easy task, " theorized Pearce, "It requires…no firing of guns…no use of explosives, and probably no real danger will be involved…It's a simple courier job. At best she completes the mission; at worse she bores herself to tears and quits. Win-win, is what I say."

Boysen did not look thoroughly convinced. "I still say, according to everything I've read, you are dealing with a loose cannon..."

"Guy, listen," Agent Pearce pointed out, "you haven't been out in the field in awhile. You don't realize that the most unconventional spies are the ones most likely to complete a successful mission…so…just work your little magic and file the necessary security clearance paperwork for Fiona Glenanne and let _me_ handle the rest."

When he saw that Pearce had already made up her mind, Boysen gave a look of resignation, "Alright, _alright._..I suppose one mission won't be so bad, especially since you will be her immediate supervisor..."

Agent Pearce nodded, "I'll take full responsibility."

"See that you do!"

Pearce smiled, confidently stood, and strode out the door towards her office.

Her most recent operation just got the green light.

.

,

Pearce was facing a seated Fi from across her desk. Trying to look intimidating, Pearce sat straight up behind the huge mahogany desktop, a stern expression on her face.

Fi sat quietly waiting, not bothered in the least.

"This mission requires you to work as a courier," Kim Pearce explained as she shuffled through all the folders, photographs, and dossiers on her desk until she found the file she wanted, "Ahh! Here it is…You'll be an American tourist and will go under the name of Faith Glidwell."

"Strong," Fiona simply said.

Pearce scowled, "What? Excuse me? Did you say _Strong_?"

"I desire a _strong_ surname," Fiona said, "_Glidwell_ sounds like one of those soft snobbish rich persons enjoying wine and caviar aboard a yacht."

The agent sighed. _Patience._ She needed Fi.

"Fair enough, Fiona…It shouldn't be too much of a bother for me to spend the rest of the afternoon processing TEN pages of paperwork in order for you to get a name more in the line of Hercules. What strong last name _do_ you prefer, then?"

Fi didn't skip a beat.

"Something that shows strength...something along the lines of…perhaps...Ironstone…Armstrong…Steele, or how about Samson? …"

"I get your point, Fiona...okay…strong surname...uh...you had mentioned Armstrong… you like Armstrong?" Pearce asked hopefully and then looked fairly relieved as she saw Fi nod, "Good! Then Armstrong it is!"

"Good. .._Now_… about the _first_ name…" Fi began…

Pearce hid her face in her flattened palm, wondering how much longer she can take.

"No, Fiona, " Pearce said decisively, " there will be no change to your first name! Faith! Your name is _Faith_! Faith Armstrong, final decision, no _ifs_ or _buts...it's Faith!_"

Fi stared at her.

"So it has to be Faith?" Fi questioned.

"FAITH!"

"Fine...I can be easy-going," responded Fi calmly, "...at least for the _first_ assignment..."

Pearce tried to recall if Michael had been this difficult. He seemed like play-doh next to his girlfriend. Agent Pearce feigned an approving smile.

"Good...now, let's discuss the job, alright? It's quite simple, Fiona, as I've already explained. You, as an innocent tourist, will be visiting the city of Tampa at a specific date and place. The rest of the days you will be on your own, just like a tourist. You think you can handle that?"

"I'm still sitting here, aren't I?" Fi replied.

Pearce let out a slightly frustrated breath as she handed Fi a piece of paper.

"I want you to memorize this address for Nemo's Bookstore. On the 18th of June, at precisely 10 am, you will walk into the bookshop and ask for the book, "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald."

"How about a book with a stronger title?" asked Fi.

_"Fiona,_ " sighed Pearce, "We don't have time for this. _Please_…The book owner there, whose name is Benjamin McGrath, will say with regret that he is very sorry but he does not have a copy at the moment."

"Is this where I threaten him until he hands me the copy?" Fi looked wide-eyed.

"No!" Pearce forced herself not to regret her decision, "You will then tell him that you saw one at the window. Both you and him will walk over to the front of the store whereupon he will find the book for you. You must also mention –as a back up identification cue—that your friend Trudy loves the character of Daisy and he will respond with a, yes, that character is shallow yet effervescent. Now, please tell me the instructions back so I know you understand them."

Fi looked almost bored as she recited the words back.

"Yes! That's it!" Pearce looked pleased.

"And _then what_?"

"And then," Agent Pearce smiled, "You bring the book back to me."

"And... why is the book so significant?" Fi inquired.

Agent Pearce looked directly at Fi.

"You know how it is…it's on a need to know basis."

"Alright," agreed Fi, "I'll let you know when I need to know."

Pearce tried not to react since she was actually quite ecstatic to move their mission forward. They had found their courier at last.

It was a done deal.

"Also, Fiona," concluded Pearce, "you must continue sightseeing for two more days after your little visit to Nemo's, to further solidify your cover. You must play your part before and after this transaction in case you are being observed. Therefore, you are actually getting a four day vacation out of this, all expenses paid by us!"

Agent Pearce paused, as if she expected applause to be coming from Fi.

Instead, Fi looked disappointed.

"This assignment does not sound dangerous _at all_," she complained.

Pearce had been expecting that reluctant reaction from Fi, so she was prepared. She knew this next part of the negotiation was tricky.

Pearce had to make the courier mission sound enticing to Fi. For most people, it would have been to convince them that the CIA will ensure their safety; for Fi, it would be the exact opposite.

The first thing Pearce did was to feign a shocked look.

"Fiona, of course there is danger involved! You above all people should know that in your dealings involving Michael and us! Things can sometimes go wrong, terribly wrong."

"I hope you're not just making empty promises," Fi seriously stated.

Pearce could see her little talk was working.

"If they do go wrong, "stated Pearce, "we trust you will use your fast thinking and abilities to help stabilize whatever situation you are in until we can get to you."

"...or perhaps I can just use some type of weaponry," volunteered Fi.

Uh-oh. This was slightly harder than Pearce anticipated.

"No, remember, Fiona, you are a _tourist,_ " Pearce tried to emphasize her words, "Tourists do not, I repeat, do _not_ carry weapons! No weapons of any kind must be in your possession. You must follow our directions to the letter... Also keep in mind, that if you are successful in this little matter, it will lead to bigger assignments."

"I sure hope so," Fi said as she got up, "I think the toughest part of this assignment will be to stay awake."

Pearce couldn' t believe it was only the early afternoon. She felt so tired already.

Meanwhile Fiona was internally convincing herself that everyone had to start at the bottom. She just didn't realize she would be starting at the _boring_ bottom.

Little did Fi know that this simple mission would be anything BUT boring...

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_Please review_

_(Thank you for everyone who took the time to review...my PM still in not working right, so if I didn't thank you personally, please know that I cherish each and every review. They are like a ray of sunshine in my day! Thank you! Thank you!)_


	3. Chapter 3

The Adventure Begins

Chapter 3

June 16th

The next morning Fi headed for the kitchen of the loft for breakfast.

Michael was already eating some yogurt and reading the newspaper. He set aside the paper as he watched her enter the kitchen. When she turned to smile at him, it was as if the sun had burst forth in the room.

"Good morning, Fi," Michael's gaze swept lovingly over her.

"Morning, Michael, you're up early," greeted Fi with a happy smile.

Michael watched as Fi walked over to the coffeemaker and poured herself a cup. He did not want to break her good mood. _How _was he going to tell her? He had contemplated that question all morning.

All thoughts of telling her , however, was forgotten as he became distracted by her.

Even with the early hour, Michael could not help thinking that the mere presence of Fi was enough to ignite desire in him. As he worked to control his sexual awareness of her, he dreaded telling her that he would be leaving her once more.

But as with other mistimed events in his life, it turned out that he didn't have to.

The coffee smelled delicious as she poured herself a cup. Bringing the steaming brew to her lips, she took a small sip. Before she could enjoy the full sensation of her morning drink, however, something caught her eye, causing her to swallow wrong and start coughing.

Michael got halfway out of his seat as he looked over at her with concern.

"Fi, are you alright?"

She recovered quickly and pointed to the duffel bag located next to the counter.

"You're leaving," she simply stated and then added, "again."

Michael was flooded with guilt.

_For spies, the hardest thing about going away is telling your special someone that very fact._

He spoke as quickly as possible, stringing his words together.

"I'm sorry, but- I- have-a- debriefing- up- in- Washington- regarding- my- next- assignment..." he began before Fi held out her hand in a "stop" gesture.

"Michael...Wait... you're talking too fast...slow your roll..." Fi interrupted.

Michael took a deep breath.

"Fi, I should have told you earlier about my leaving...and I regret that..." he admitted, "I just...didn't want to upset you...but I'll be back in no time, I promise."

He paused, waiting for the usual onslaught of grievances from her.

These 'discussions' would usually include how he always put the mission first, while sidestepping the feelings of his family and loved ones. Michael figured if he put off telling her until the last minute, they would spend less time arguing.

He watched for her reaction. He could have sworn her eyes brightened at the news of him leaving. But that didn't make any sense. He must have imagined it.

She folded her arms as she peered at him.

_Here it comes._

He braced himself for what was to come... first, the icicle stare and then the argument. OR if he were lucky, he'd might get away with just hearing a slammed door.

Internally, Fi had been debating how to tell Michael that she would be gone for four days. Luckily, fate had intervened. Instead, with _him_ gone first, she would be able to get on with _her_ mission without any excuses, any interruptions.

So, to Michael's surprise, she unfolded her arms, reached over, and calmly took another sip of her coffee before putting the mug back down.

"Have a nice trip, Michael," she stated casually, "Be sure to call me when you get back."

Michael's mouth slightly dropped at her announcement.

_Most people think having an understanding girlfriend is the best thing in the world. A spy fears it._

He watched her carefully, "O_kay_...Fi, that was…not _quite_ the reaction I expected from you..."

But Fi's expression was not giving away anything.

"Michael, I assure you, I don't know what you are talking about. What were you expecting?"

Michael watched the sparks of challenge in her green eyes.

"What was I expecting Fi?" asking Michael cautiously, "How about something along the lines of, 'You're always doing this to me, so don't slam the door on your way out!'?"

But you never slam the door on your way out, Michael."

"Uh, that was a turn of expression, Fi."

"I'm going to pretend that you didn't say 'turn of expression' like you were a Shakespearean thespian," she stated.

"Don't change the subject," asserted Michael, "What is up with you?"

"Michael, is it so bad of me to ask you to have a nice trip?"

Her eyes were round and innocent. Well, she had a point there. Michael was puzzled yet fascinated at the same time.

One of the things he loved about her was her unpredictability. It made her so…exciting. Awareness caused a sharp ache inside him, and he shook his head with a rueful smile. Maybe he was making a big thing out of nothing. Perhaps she was adjusting to his lifestyle. After all, they had been living together for awhile now.

"I'll miss you, Fi."

He seemed to have said the right words, for an inviting smile broke out on her face.

Fi approached him. Michael got off the counter chair to meet her halfway, hoping at the last minute she wouldn't do something, like...oh, slam him against the wall. He was ready to accept her in his arms.

When Fi reached him, she tilted her face up to look at him, adoration shining in her eyes. Then pressing her palms against the hard surface of his chest, she tiptoed up and gave a sweet peck on his cheek.

With a gentle smile, she turned and walked past him. Reaching the shelf, she grabbed one of her snowglobe balls and walked towards the counter. Opening his overnight bag, she tossed it in his bag and zipped it back.

"There!" she came back and handed the bag to him, "Now you won't have to miss me anymore."

Michael was baffled as he reached tentatively over and took the bag from her. What game was she playing?

"I'll think about you the whole time I'm gone, Fi..."

"Goodbye Michael," she stated steadily, "and stay safe."

She looked at him primly, but Michael caught the trembling of her lips at his words and it made him grin as realization hit him. She _was_ playing hard to get. He put the bag down.

"Don't I get a good-bye kiss, Fi?"

Michael was looking at her with a slow, dark heat as he reached out for her and enclosed her in his arms. Fi's heart pounded as he lowered his mouth and covered hers, surrounding her with the heat of passion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his throat hummed with pleasure.

The pressure of their lips was as before, arousing and passionate. Afterwards when they had parted, they looked at each other in searing wonderment.

They stood in silence.

He waited for the words of endearment to come out of her. Instead, she picked up his bag, turned him around, and started shoving him towards the door.

"Michael," she said, "You don't want to miss your flight."

If this was a game, it had ended quickly, with no one seemingly the winner.

"That certainly won't be a possibility now," Michael agreed as she continued to push him towards the door, "I'll probably arrive at the airport before the ticket agents."

"Then you'll have a better chance of getting a window seat," Fi stated as she opened the front door.

"I suppose..." he questioned, giving her one more lingering look before he walked away.

As Fi shut the door, she looked around the empty room. The silence seemed to reverberate throughout the walls. The loft suddenly appeared dark and lonely.

There was a strange mixture of feelings inside Fi; relief at his departure so that she could get to work, but also of sadness because he was gone.

But the thought of completing an official CIA mission made her smile and the heartache lifted slightly.

Afterwards when Michael returned, she could proudly tell him that she, too, was hired to do covert operations for the CIA. Then in the future, instead of missing him, she would be accompanying him.

Or actually he would be accompanying _her_.

.

.

Meanwhile, as Michael climbed down the stairs, his thoughts were not of the Washington trip, but of Fi. His forehead furrowed at her reaction to his departure. Her behavior was so strange, even for her.

_What was Fi up to?_

There was only one thing to do, although he hoped Fi would never find out. After Michael got into the Charger he took out his cell phone and immediately called Sam.

.

.

June 17th

Located in the heart of vibrant Tampa, the InterContinental Hotel and Resorts boasts a contemporary yet casual sense of elegance, embodying the laidback sophistication of Florida's style.

Tourist Faith "Fiona" Armstrong slept well in the comfy king size bed of her spacious room. The CIA must be doing fairly well to afford all of this for her, Fi thought as she looked about the opulence. She recalled a few years earlier, when Michael had been officially burned as a spy, they had dumped him in a fleabag motel.

She was going to make the best of this mission/vacation and show the CIA that she has what it takes to be a topnotch agent.

Downstairs Fiona bought a map of Tampa and after a light lunch, set out for a nice walk about the city. After all, isn't that what tourist do? Take in the sights and sounds of the city!

She strolled through Bok Tower Gardens, visited the animals at the Tampa Bay Zoo and walked along the shoreline. As she felt the sand beneath her feet, she breathed deeply in, filling her lungs with the fresh ocean breeze.

And as she looked around at nature's beauty, all she could think about was that she was so bored she felt like screaming.

.

It was late afternoon and she was back at the hotel. She actually found herself pacing from inactivity. Fi could not wait any longer. Perhaps if she just got a glimpse of Nemo's Bookstore, it would soothe her curiosity.

Unfolding her map on the hotel table, she discovered to her surprise that the bookstore was within walking distance of her hotel. It was actually located on a side street, a block down from where she was situated.

A decision was made that she would casually stroll by there and take a peek at its surroundings. Spies do that all the time, don't they? It's called reconnaissance.

And it was time for Fi to do some recon.

.

.

In no time, she was in front of the bookstore.

Nemo's Bookstore was located in a fairly respectable area. From where she stood, the shop itself was not the neglected shabby storefront as she had expected. It was a modern but narrow shop. On its huge display window was painted a large orange/white clown fish with the words "Nemo's Bookstore" elegantly written in cursive writing.

Taking a glance through the window, she saw a man ringing up a customer at the counter. He seemed pleasant enough. There were other customers in the shop.

The door to the shop opened as that customer walked out with his purchase. He held the door open for Fi. What would it hurt to take a quick peek inside? she thought to herself. She would just go in and right back out. On impulse, she nodded to the courteous man and entered the shop.

Fi looked around at the bookshelves of books. Outside of books and shelves, the only other item in the shop was a small round fish bowl with one fish swimming about. Not wanting to look conspicuous, she moseyed over to view the fish bowl.

Bending slightly in front of the watery container she observed that the orange fish had three white stripes, one at the head, middle and tail. Fi became mesmerized with the solitaire fish, who was busy swimming in and out of its plastic green plants and play stone castle. _Swish swish_. If only I were that busy, she thought.

"I see you are fascinated by my little clown fish!" a man's voice came from behind her.

Fi whirled around and after reading his nametag as "Ben", she surmised that this must be her future contact, Benjamin McGrath. She had expected him to be an older man like Doctor Jones, but instead he was roughly her age, with red hair, black frame glasses and a mousy countenance. Yet despite the nerdy appearance, his eyes were sharp and seemed to take in everything.

She had meant to come in unnoticed, but it was too late now. . It was time she play her part. She must become friendly tourist Faith Armstrong, expert of the small talk.

"Lovely fish," Fi complimented, trying to sound like any other enthusiastic out-of-towner that came in just to browse, "and such vibrant colors on that fish!...Oh, and I see the store is named Nemo's. I assumed your fish is named after this wonderful shop?"

_Too wordy...trying too hard_, Fi corrected herself. Maybe she should let this 'Ben' do all the talking. She tilted her head in a listening gesture as he spoke.

Did you think this fish is named for the store? Not quite, Miss, " corrected Benjamin in a friendly manner, "I had my little Nemo first, so my store is named after my fish!"

I can't do this, thought Fi, I can't do this small talk! This wasn't even small talk, this was minuscule talk. She'd need a microscope soon.

Fi was getting glassy-eyed.

"Oh, well... isn't that the most interesting statement?" she attempted a lighthearted laugh.

Damn!

_A trainee spy playing a role must work on making her manufactured laugh sound friendly, not diabolical._

She looked around, hoping another customer might distract Ben's attention. But everyone else seemed enmeshed in their books.

"They are very interesting fish," Ben was explaining, "And you know, there is a strict hierarchy of dominance with clownfish. They are hermaphrodites, meaning they develop into males first and when they mature, they become females. Which is good since females are the strong, aggressive ones."

Females are the strong ones? Females are the superior ones? Now _that_ was interesting, thought Fi, perking up. At least now, she did not have to fake attentiveness.

"You don't say?" she smiled sincerely, "The female is the more aggressive? I am now an avid fan of the clownfish."

Benjamin laughed lightly, "Always glad to meet a fan of the fish world! And so...how exactly may I help you today?"

In the meantime the shop's door opened again and Benjamin nodded affably to a man and woman who had entered the store.

Fi had not really expected to buy anything, but after all this nonsensical talk, she couldn't just simply walk out empty handed from the store. It would look suspicious.

"I'm looking for a book," she said, in answer to his question.

Benjamin grinned, "but of course you are, that is why you are at a bookstore…but which one?"

Fi was stumped. She hadn't given any thought to any book she might want.

"Something strong- sounding."

This time Benjamin scratched his head, completely stumped.

"I'm afraid, I don't understand …" began Benjamin, looking about his shop. Then his face brightened and he snapped his fingers, "Ahhh! You like strong fish, so perhaps you like a strong heroine? Yes? Perhaps I DO have a book for you!"

He walked over to a particular bookshelf. Fingering a few titles, he chose one with a burgundy cover. The beautiful looking leather-bound book also contained gold accent lettering, elegant gilding and a permanent satin ribbon bookmark.

"One of my favorites books!" announced Benjamin proudly, handing her the book, " This is the story 'Emma' by Jane Austen. It has a wonderfully strong heroine to admire! She's intelligent, self-sufficient and best of all she sticks to her guns when it matters!"

"Guns?" Fi openly admired it.

Fi almost slapped herself. Tourists do not blurt out words like 'guns'.

"I meant _gum_, yes, I was wondering if you had gum," Fi corrected herself.

"No, Miss," Ben shook his head, "our store is very limited in our merchandise."

"That's alright," said Fi, as she held up the book, "Anyway, this book looks...engaging. I'll take it."

Benjamin McGrath looked very pleased as he took the book back and they walked over to the counter.

"I will also give you a 20 percent discount!" Benjamin stated with a smile, as he rang the order up, "This I will do for my new clown fish friend!"

For a split second, Fi felt her heart sharply constrict. What is this feeling she is feeling now, she wondered. Could this be how people feel when they have...bonded?

"Why, um...thank you." Fi smiled, "I appreciate the discount."

"Don't mention it," Benjamin said, as he handed the package to her, "I hope to see you soon!"

"Sooner than you think," prophesied Fi.

"What?" he asked.

"Sooner than later," she reworded herself as he looked slightly puzzled.

With the transaction completed, she turned to exit.

Fi was in deep thought as she pushed the door of the bookstore to exit. She had not intended to meet Benjamin McGrath at all, and now they were like bff's!

Would this affect her contact with him tomorrow? What happens if Agent Pearce gets wind of this? The thought made her slightly regret the visit, knowing that she should not have let curiosity get the best of her.

But then on the other hand, Fi never regretted anything. For her, a mistake, such as shooting someone, is simply another way of doing things.

So absorbed was she in her spy thoughts, that she did the one thing spies should never do…become unaware of her surroundings. For if she had been more observant, she would have seen someone on the roof of the adjacent building, as he looked through his binoculars, trained on her every move.

.

.

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	4. Chapter 4

Making Contact

Chapter 4

In the plush hotel room, Fiona opened her eyes and knew it was _the_day_…_the day her life began as a spy.

She thought she would have been excited, but she felt almost blasé now. All the waiting around had definitely waned her enthusiasm a bit. However, Dr. Jones had been correct in his assessment. She had needed some kind of diversion, and the promise of action was all she could ever ask for.

She ate a small breakfast at the hotel dining room while reading her new 'Emma' novel. The book actually held Fi's interest. There was only one problem with the plotline. According to the story, the heroine, Emma was "a woman blessed with good looks and intelligence, but she was also graced with a disposition of thinking too highly of herself'."

_How will I ever _**_relate _**_to the heroine of __this __story_? Fi thought to herself.

Enough, she thought, as she shut the book. She picked up her purse, noting how light it felt without a weapon. She put her _Emma_ book in her purse, but it still felt too light. She missed her gun already. The sacrifices a spy must make, she thought to herself as she left the hotel.

Although it was a beautiful day to walk, Fi decided to drive her rented silver Audi to the bookstore. Once she completed this simple assignment she would go sightseeing throughout the city, perhaps drop by a hardware store.

At 9:50 am she walked up to Nemo's Bookstore.

"_The Great_ _Gatsby_" and the name "Trudy" was ingrained in her mind.

A smile played on her lips at the idea of being secretive, of having specific lines to say for identification purposes. She never had to do this with a gun deal. Or when she had to catch a bounty. Those times she had let her Uzi do all the talking. Not today.

The door to Nemo's Bookstore was partially opened. That was not how it had been the other day, but perhaps there had been a careless customer, she thought as she entered.

Opening the door, she boldly entered.

Compared to the outside, the interior of the bookstore was so dark. Fi had to blink slightly at the sudden change from bright sunlight to the relatively dark interior of the room.

"Hello!" exclaimed a man from behind the counter.

Fi did not recognize that voice and could only make out a silhouette. It was definitely not the thin frame of Benjamin McGrath, the owner she had met a couple of days ago.

Finally her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room. The man who had greeted her was average in height and weight with dark hair. Very nondescript; someone no one would ever give a second look at.

To cover her confusion she smiled politely and nodded.

Tourist, she reminded herself, _I am an Uzi-less tourist._Unlike her usual manner of knowing exactly where she wanted to go, she had to pretend to look lost and disjointed in a new city.

She wandered aimlessly through shop, at last ending up at a nearby table which displayed best-selling novels. Randomly selecting a book, she opened it, pretending to be thoroughly interested in its contents. The words at first seemed to run together before she forced herself to concentrate.

She skimmed over the words on the page: _Be emotionally grounded. Life with you should not be a roller coaster ride. Men generally like women who are stable. If you find yourself referred to as difficult, seek help and guidance in relaxing your nerves and calming your emotions._

What do these crazy words mean? she thought, what _is_ this book? Was the author Sam Axe? She flipped the cover to read its title. She scowled as she read the name of the book, "_How to Keep Your Man_".

She almost flung the book across the room.

"May I help you?"

The man she had seen earlier was now standing next to her. As Fi gave him the quick lookover, and the only thing remarkable about this man was that his eyes were very black, as if no light or life was present.

Getting no response from her, he peered at the book in Fi's hand.

"A fine book you have selected!" he stated, "One of our best sellers! Are you here seeking self-help relationship advice?"

Fi slammed the book shut, "Certainly not!" and then remembering her role, she relaxed and added, "I was just glancing at this...for a friend."

The man gave her an overt wink, "Yes, yes..it is always for a _friend,_ is it not?"

Fi wanted to smush the book in that smug man's face. But she thought better of it, for he would not be willing to help her if she knocked his lights out. And help was what she needed, for her job was to retrieve that book.

Then once this mission was completed, she could change her name from Faith Armstrong to...to ..._Zara_ Armstrong. Fi smiled to herself at that thought.

Looking back at the man standing before her now, she noticed that unlike the storekeeper from yesterday, this man had no store tag pinned on his shirt.

_Where was Benjamin McGrath?_

She would find out.

"Perhaps you _can_ help me," Fi tried to look helpless, "I was here yesterday and the proprietor, Mr. McGrath, was so very helpful in helping me select a book... I thought he might be here today to suggest another book for me. When will he be back?"

The man looked surprised, "But, Miss,_**I**_ am the owner! And yes, _my_ name is Benjamin McGrath!"

_What_? Fi stared at him hard. She could not recall if the other man had actually introduced himself by that name. Perhaps not. Too bad she couldn't find out the truth _her_ way...by beating it out of him. No, this time, she needed to use words.

"Really?" she asked innocently, "I am quite sure that other person I spoke to introduced himself as Mr. McGrath! He even had a name tag with the name "Ben" printed on it!

Her eyes dropped to the front of this person's shirt, where the tag should have been pinned. That made this McGrath subconsciously reach up with his hand and cover that empty space above his shirt pocket.

There was a pause and then he awkwardly laughed.

"Oh yes, of course! Of course!" he said, "You are referring to my cousin _Benson_! He helps me when I am away from the shop."

Fi narrowed her eyes. She trusted the original McGrath more. Nevertheless, she could be mistaken. Perhaps this is the McGrath she should be speaking with.

For if there's one thing Fi learned from Michael is to trust no one, including someone who looked trustworthy like the original Ben McGrath. She mustn't let "bonding" with someone fog her perceptions.

She needed to find out which one was the real Benjamin McGrath.

_I am undercover, I am not me,_thought Fi, reminding herself,_I must get answers by being polite._ _I mustn't act as though I am the Gestapo interrogating a prisoner_. _Slapping is not an option._

Fi forced a smile, "What a shame your charming cousin is not here! But perhaps you might be able to help me, after all. I think the last time I was here, _The Great Gatsby_ was suggested by him as a book I should read. Do you have that here?"

Her eyes opened innocently wide and she tilted her head.

As if he were in deep thought,this McGrath folded his arms and settled his chin between the 'v' created by his index finger and the inside part of his thumb.

"Mmmm…The Great Gatsby," he mused outloud, "I am not sure...I will go check for you…"

He went back to the counter and rustled through a stack of papers. Extracting a particular sheet, he ran a finger down the typed list.

He shook his head, "That book we do not have. I am so sorry."

Fi quickly recalled what Agent Pearce had said: "_The book owner there, whose name is Benjamin McGrath, will say with regret that he is very sorry but he does not have a copy at the moment."_

This McGrath did not say those exact words, but the idea was the same... so was _he_ the imposter or was the first McGrath?

Fi also remembered that Agent Pearce had been very explicit in her directions: "_You will then tell him that you saw The Great Gatsby book at the window. Both you and him will walk over to the front of the store whereupon he will find the book for you. You must also mention –as a back up identification cue—that your friend Trudy loves the character of Daisy and he will respond with a yes, that character is shallow yet effervescent._

Fi spoke with conviction, "I believe I saw a copy in your window."

"Is that so?" he seemed genuine in his surprise.

"Yes, I'm sure I saw a copy when I had first walked in." Fi stated, giving him a challenging stare.

They both walked over to the front window. Fi leaned over and looked through the entire window display of books. She was disappointed when _The Great Gatsby_ book was nowhere is sight.

As she straightened up and looked around the shop, Fi noticed something else that was unusual.

The small round fish tank, the one that the first McGrath had lovingly named his shop after, was missing from its special table.

With a sinking sensation, Fi knew her initial thought was correct.

This was not the McGrath she was looking for. But just in case, she would give this person one more chance to redeem himself.

Fi looked right at him, "How strange that you do not have that book, for I really wanted to read it. My friend Trudy really enjoyed that book."

"Is that so?" he asked, "did she buy it here?"

O_kay_, thought Fi, now she knew for certain. This definitely was not Benjamin McGrath. Perhaps she should come back later at night and rummage through this place on her own to try and find the book.

Fi forced a smile, "Perhaps I was wrong. I thought she said she bought it here last week.. No worries... I'll just look elsewhere. Anyway, thank you for your time."

She started to make turn away.

"Wait, Miss! Stop!" McGrath imposter smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, "Come to think of it, a small shipment of books arrived just yesterday and silly me!... I just stuffed the entire box under this counter here, without even taking any of the books out…it'll just take a second for me to look at the inventory list.."

He walked back to the counter, bending behind the counter.

Fi just wanted to leave, "Never mind, Mr. McGrath, you don't need to-"

She stopped talking when she heard the click of a gun.

_Things can sometimes go wrong, terribly wrong_, she remembered Pearce saying.

Here was a perfect example.

Fake McGrath now had a gun directly pointed at Fi

.

Back at her desk, Agent Pearce had spent most of the morning on the phone, conferring with a State Department official about a possible revolution that may erupt in Cuba. Hers was the only department with a comprehensive file on the insurgent leader.

She looked up as her young assistant, Thomas Wright entered her office and shut the door. He then brought over to her the usual cup of coffee along with a folder stamped "Classified." The folder was paper-thin, for there were only five sheets, one being an email recently inserted in the new file.

"I wouldn't read the top paper in that file now if I were you, Kim," warned assistant Wright when Pearce had immediately taken the folder, "I think you're going to need your coffee first."

Agent Pearce peered over at her colleague, "Really? Well, that can't be a good sign, Tom, can it?...but a jolt isn't something I need just yet, so let's take a look at what we got here with this latest email, shall we?"

After the morning Agent Pearce had been having, she did not think anything worse could happen. She was so wrong as she scanned the confidential email.

The email was from state officials at the Security Department in Washington DC:

_It has been confirmed that the body of Agent Benjamin McGrath, working undercover as proprietor of Nemo's Bookstore, was found floating off the waters of south Florida. Details are sketchy at this time, and the cause of death cannot be confirmed as of yet. It was highly possible that he either died of knife wounds and or drowning, most likely occurring sometime just before midnight on the 17th of June. Further investigation is underway by authorities._

Agent Pearce stared at the impersonal black letters on the paper. She knew Benjamin McGrath, and he is, no, _was_, an excellent agent. Pearce allowed herself a brief moment to mourn McGrath, for no person deserved to die this way.

At last she sat up, her manner once again became one of cold and ruthless efficiency.

"I want complete updates on this investigation as they come in." she insisted to her assistant.

"Of course."

"And I want a direct line to Langley to verify the facts, " Pearce continued, as she felt a headache coming on, "You know who to contact up there."

"That, I do."

Agent Pearce breathed out a sigh of frustration. What else could go wrong?

It was at that precise moment that the door burst opened and Michael Westen strode in, looking thoroughly enraged.

.

.

_(The best thing about the BN site is the wonderful readers/reviewers! Thank you, thank you for your kindness!)_

_Please review_


	5. Chapter 5

Fiona "Faith" Armstrong

Chapter 5

Agent Pearce knew exactly the reason why Michael Westen had exploded into her office.

Fiona Glenanne.

She held up her hand to warn Michael not to speak until after she instructed her assistant.

"That will be all, Tom, " she dismissed him, "Remember to tell them that we have a definite interest in any investigation of the case we were discussing and make sure they keep me informed."

"I will certainly do that," agreed Thomas Wright, nodding, before shuffling quickly past Michael and shutting the door behind him.

Once Michael and Pearce were alone, she leaned back, holding the ends of a pencil between her hands.

"Michael..." Pearce's expression was placid,"This is certainly an unexpected visit. Weren't you supposed to be up in DC this week?"

"Don't play the welcoming house hostess to me, Pearce! " Michael barked, "What the hell were you thinking by signing up Fi to be one of your agents?"

His lips were pursed in a thin line as he worked to suppress his anger. Pearce was still reeling from McGrath's death and really was not in the mood to deal with a misinformed, worried boyfriend.

"_What_, " Pearce declared with indignation, "You think _I_ initiated Fi's recruitment?"

Michael's eyes were lit with anger, "If it wasn't you, it was one of your cronies. No way in hell would Fi sign up of her own volition! What carrot did you dangle in front of her?"

"Oh, yes, that's right," said Pearce sarcastically, "we both know how easily you girlfriend can be swayed! No high strung stubbornness there, no siree, Bob!"

"You must have said _something_ to convince her to join!" Michael accused.

"No, Michael...I would not be able to convince her of _anything_..._you_ are the one with the charming smile to influence her, not us!"

"Do you see the charming smile I have plastered on my face _now_?" Michael pointed as he bared his teeth, "this look should scare you."

Pearce looked unfazed.

"Michael," insisted Pearce, as she tossed aside the pencil she had been fiddling around with, "We did_ nothing_ to entice her...and...by the way, why are you objecting to all this _now_, three days later?"

"W-what?"

Michael was caught off guard and struggled for how to respond. This put Pearce on the offensive and her face lit up as realization hit her. Snapping her fingers, she gave Michael a look of victory.

"Wait…You've _just_ found out about all this, didn't you, Michael? _Fi never told you_ she was out on a mission for us, _did she_?"

Michael didn't like the idea of sounding as though Fi wouldn't tell him about such a big change in her life. He wanted Pearce to think they were close, but at the moment, it sure didn't sound that way.

"Your silence," stated Pearce, "is telling me so much more than your words."

He gave a defeated sigh.

"Alright, no... she didn't." admitted Michael, letting out an aggravated breath.

"Then how did you find out?" Pearce asked.

"I had Sam tailing her, " he admitted, "Sam was the one who found out she was a staying at a Tampa hotel room used frequently for covert operations, and driving around in a CIA-issued rental car!"

Pearce gave him a disapproving look.

"Snooping around your girlfriend's activities, tsk! tsk! Michael…Fi will _not_ be happy when she finds out what you did!"

"Don't change the subject, Pearce—" growled Michael, taking control once more, "we were talking about YOU recruiting Fi for a CIA covert mission!"

Pearce didn't have time for this type of interrogation, especially by one of her own agents.

"Michael, You're taking your frustrations out on the wrong person!" Agent Pearce said, now showing her annoyance, "It was _she_ who came to _us_! I think you are just overreacting because she did not tell you first! It was just a little courier mission...we do these all the time..."

"Still, _still_!" said Michael as he placed his hands on her desk and hovered over her, "This is my girlfriend you are talking about! How could you send her immediately out on an assignment…and with no weapons, no back-up?"

"Of course we have back-up for her, Michael! As a precaution, we assigned an agent back at her hotel! This is the CIA here, not some rinky-dink three-person operation!" Pearce backed off a little when she realized what she had said, "No offense."

"None taken." Michael said dryly.

The tension in the room had abated somewhat.

"But the point is," reasoned Pearce, "this whole 'Fiona-as-an-agent' was given a green light because, _your_ girlfriend was already running late for her nail appointment and could not take _no_ for an answer!"

At that point Michael had completely calmed down, for that really did sound like Fi.

"Yeah, " Michael stated evenly, "Fi really hates to be late for her nail appointment. It makes her pretty moody."

"How can you tell?" Pearce asked as they exchanged shared smiles.

The hardness in Michael's expression was gone, telling Pearce that his temper had dissipated. He looked composed as he asked the next question.

"So it's like you said... it was just a simple courier mission?" Michael inquired.

Thoughts of Agent McGrath's demise entered Pearce's mind, but it would be best not to upset Michael again.

"Yes," she replied managing to keep her voice light, "You know how easy those assignments usually go. Easy in, retrieve, easy out. And with this particular mission, we had one of best agents, McGrath, on the case, too."

Pearce was surprised as Michael's expression changed. She saw the color leave his face as he slowly sunk down into Pearce's visitor' chair. When he turned to look at her, fear shone in his eyes.

"Michael?" she questioned.

"_Had,_" he said, half to himself.

Pearce scowled, "What?"

He stared gravely at her, "You said 'we _had_ one of our best agents on the mission'…Why _the past tense_? What happened to him? And why can't I get in touch with Fi?"

Pearce's headache was now throbbing. She did not know how she was going to answer Michael.

.

.

Back at Nemo's Bookstore, the fake McGrath had pulled a gun on Fi.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his demeanor changing instantly as he kept the gun on her, "I've never seen you before. How do you fit into all this?"

Fi decided to keep up with her visitor persona as her eyes opened wide in fake fear.

"Please, " Fi pleaded, her eyes round, "My name is Faith Armstrong and..and I'm just a tourist! I'm just here to enjoy some sights in Tampa! Is it money you want? Because if it is, I have some!" She innocently held up her purse.

He wasn't taking the bait, as his face grew malicious, "If there's one thing I abhor, it's stupid coincidences! You're obviously no freaking tourists! You and I both know that particular book you wanted is more than just a book!"

"Book? What book? The relationship book? Are you having trouble? Do you need me as an advisor, a go-between?"

Fake McGrath was getting impatient.

"You know damn well what book I am talking about!" he snapped, "If you cannot give me any additional information such as who sent you to do this pick-up, then I will consider you useless and this conversation will not end pleasantly for you."

Fi considered continuing with her cover of being a tourist, but she was already tiring of the charade. Acting as if you fear someone can certain take a lot out of a person, she thought, and right now, she needed to reserve her energy. It was best she tell him the truth.

"Okay, " she admitted, her voice suddenly sounding stronger and more assertive, "_so I am not a tourist_."

"Whom are you working for then?" he pressed her.

"The CIA," she answered proudly, as she stood straighter, "And you? I've already figured you are probably just a peon in the entire bad-guy scheme of things.. so tell me, what small, insignificant part do you play in this game of hot-potato-book?"

"I don't answer _your_ questions, "he responded as he gestures to his gun, "_I'm_ the one in control here."

Fake McGrath watched as Fi darted her eyes left and then right.

And don't even _think_ about trying to escape," he warned, "I don't like to brag, but I am quite the marksman. Just give me a reason to practice."

"Ooooo, you're such a tough man," Fi stated sardonically, "I bet you can even shoot the daylight out of the sun."

But Fake McGrath did not look amused.

"How many agents you got out there?" he wanted to know, "And I want the exact number!"

"Well, let's see, " said Fi, looking up in the air and holding her fingers to count, "there's me..." and then Fi looked back directly at him, "and then there's my sidekick."

"Sidekick?" he inquired.

"No" Fi deadpanned, "Not my sidekick...my side_ kick_…"

"I should shoot you dead now," he threatened.

"Suit yourself, " Fi shrugged, as she pointed out to the window, "but the sound will bring people coming from all around…if you don't mind having witnesses…"

He hated to admit it, she had a point. He had to get her out of sight.

"Alright then..." he said, as he gestured with his head, "I want you to get the hell in the back of the shop, right _now_!"

He cocked his gun.

Fi remained immobile.

"I said _get in the back_!" he repeated himself.

She still didn't budge.

"You might as well shoot me now, shoot me right here," she informed him, "Do it in front of the open window, let me turn and flatten my splattered bloodstained body against the shop's window for all of Tampa to see, because no way in hell am I going _in the back_ _with you_!"

She steadfastly folded her arms. A silent pause.

"God dammit!" he finally murmured under his breath.

Fake McGrath's confident demeanor slightly faltered as he peered outside. Someone actually _could_ walk in any moment, and he certainly did not need witnesses.

If this B*tch didn't want to move, he needed to lock the door and pull down the blinds in order to get the answers he needed from her.

He moved from behind the counter towards the door, keeping his gun trained on her the entire time.

"Don't move," he said.

Fi looked bored at his demand.

"_Don't move_?" she repeated, "Didn't you just tell me that I _needed to_ _move_-"

"Shut up, _**shut the hell up!**_"

Fi remained in her spot as she watched him maneuver across the room to get to the door. Midway when he was at the closest point to her, she made the decision to unleash.

Spinning quickly towards him, she was within striking distance. It had happened so fast and unexpectedly, that Fake McGrath had no time to react.

She led with a palm strike towards his face. Fake McGrath was fast enough to block it, but in the process, lost the gun as it skidded away from him.

Fi then quickly spun again and threw an elbow. The blow landed on the left side of his chin. She kept attacking, throwing one blow after another.

The body shots were accumulating.

"_I. Just. Hate. Not. Having. A. Weapon_!" Fi frustratingly grunted as she at last landed an effective _side kick_ to his body.

Fake McGrath fell to the ground and rolled away. He was definitely on the defensive, in survivor mode. Fi came over and rained down foot stomps and then a kick to the head.

As Fi raised her foot to give another stomp, Fake McGrath was ready this time. He clamped her foot against his body and rolled hard. This left Fi with two choices. She could fall quickly to the ground, or have her ankle bone snap like a dried twig.

She purposely fell.

"I've got you now, B*tch!" he growled, now that they were both on the ground.

"Actually…_we're even_!" Fi huffed as she struggled, "Because..down here on the ground…_size… doesn't…matter!_…_take it...whichever way you want!"  
_

As they struggled, Fake McGrath had grabbed her hair, yanking it hard. He expected her to yelp, but instead, she boxed him hard in the ear, causing him to instantly release his hold on her.

Then Fi made a grab for his leg and gave it a vicious twist. He rolled with it and that was when he made his biggest mistake yet.

He had turned his back on her.

She let go and jumped on the back of him, her legs snaking around his waist, her right arm around Fake McGrath's neck. Panic made him start bucking. He dropped his chin to block her elbow.

She whacked him in the back of the head with a palm strike. That weakened him a bit, allowing her to grip his forehead and tug it back. He was struggling the whole way. Finally her elbow had sneaked underneath the opening and she could reach his throat.

The choke hold was set.

It was at that moment that the shop door opened and they heard a gasp. An elderly woman customer had wandered into the shop. Upon seeing the two struggling, her hand flying up to her throat.

"Oh, _good Lord_!" the older lady gasped as she witnessed the vicious scene before her.

"H..elp…me!" Fake McGrath managed to strangle out as Fi held him in a tight grip.

"LADY, GET OUT!" Fi was yelling at the lady, "AND CALL THE POLICE!"

The woman didn't need to be told twice as she quickly ran out and shut the door. The yelling incident was enough to distract Fi momentarily. Fake McGrath was able to gather all his strength to throw her off him.

Fi went flying off of him, landing hard on the ground.

Meantime, he did a reverse roll.

Fi was in attack mode as she headed towards him again, but something made her freeze.

He had recovered his gun.

.

.

_Please review_


	6. Chapter 6

The chase is on

Chapter 6

Fake McGrath had his gun trained on Fi and this time he aimed to shoot. Fi's heart began to beat faster, her adrenaline on high.

Suddenly she heard a familiar voice from behind Fake McGrath.

"Drop it, Buddy," Sam appeared from the back room, his own Glock pointed at Fake McGrath.

She caught of glimpse of Fake McGrath's face, saw it register first with shock and incredulity…and then anger.

And then everything happened so fast. Unexpectedly, Fake McGrath whirled around as he aimed his gun at Sam. At the same time Fi registered the danger and quickly shoved him, but not before he fired in Sam's direction.

_BANG!_

"_**SAM**_!" Fi shouted as she watched Sam go down.

She turned back toward Fake McGrath, her eyes blazing. Instinctively Fi reached over and angrily slammed a fist into the small of his back.

Fake McGrath arched his back in pain and then spun partly around to deliver an elbow strike at Fi, but she was quick enough to shift away from his intended blow.

Now facing him, her next move was then to go for a weak, unprotected area, smashing her fist squarely into Fake McGrath's nose.

"Yeow!"

She heard a satisfying, crunching noise, like a fist closing over a bird's next, as he protectively covered his bleeding nose.

She followed it up with a solid punch to his kidney, one of the most vulnerable areas in the body.

His knees buckled. Then he was on his knees, and Fi threw a kick to the back of his head, powerful enough to render him unconscious.

His body was like a lumpy sack on the floor. With Fake McGrath out of commission, Fi quickly ran over to Sam.

In the meantime, Sam had managed to drag himself so he could sit up against a wall. His hand was all bloodied as he held on to his throbbing, wounded upper thigh.

"_Sam!_ Are you alright?" Fi found a dusting rag from behind the counter and made quick work of wrapping his leg like a tourniquet, hoping to stop the bleeding as she added, "Luckily he hit a part of you that had the most fat."

Sam stared at Fi.

"Really, Fi, _really_? Christ! Your words hurt more than the gunshot ever did!"

Then before Sam could react, he got a bop in the head from her.

"Ow! FI!" Sam reached up and rubbed his sore head, "What the hell was that for? Here I come, riding in on my white horse to save you, only to get shot, and for what? To get slapped on my head?"

Fi gave him a quick look of disdain.

"You deserve that, Sam! It's your own fault you're here! Obviously you've been following me!" replied an annoyed Fi, " I could have more than handle the situation myself!"

"Oh, yeah, I can see that!" Sam stated, as he sat up more, "I liked how you handled staring down the barrel of a gun!"

"At least I didn't end up with a superficial wound on my thigh!"

"A superficial wound, _a superficial wound_? Listen, sister, that bullet _exploded_ into my leg, ripping all internal organs to smithereens!" Sam insisted.

"Poor bullet! It'll be totally inebriated by the time it's remove!"

"Oh, ha, ha, Fi! Still with the jokes when I am here in excruciating pain!"

"...and on your last leg, too, don't forget." she added dryly.

Sam looked up at the heavens, "_Just let me lose consciousness now!"_ He then looked at Fi, "Hel-_lo_! Did you not hear me when I said I was in _excruciating pain?"_

"Oh, don't be such a baby, Sam!"

Suddenly in the distance, they heard the familiar sounds of emergency vehicles.

_WOOOooo..eee aww eee aww…WOOOooo..eee aww eee aww…_

They both turned towards the window. That lady customer who had previously walked into the shop by accident had obviously came through and called 911.

They needed to get out of here.

Fi glanced over at knocked-out Fake McGrath. He was out cold, she thought, smiling proudly at her handiwork. Then she turned to Sam.

"Sam, can you walk out of here?" Fi asked.

"Well, I certainly can't fly! I'll need your help though, I don't think I can do it on my own.."

Sam slung his arm over Fi's shoulder. Fi found it difficult to hoist Sam up.

"Ooomph! Sam!" she struggled to stand, "You really need to cut down on …just cut down, period!"

"Hey, now, sister" insisted Sam, "I'll have you know I'm the same weight as when I was in the SEALS!"

"If that's true, Sam," Fi gave a big heaving sound, "there's been a _major_ redistribution of your flesh, then."

"Yeah, well, there's that, " Sam admitted, "I think it was due to the change in the earth's gravitational pull starting in 1990."

They managed to stand just as the sirens were getting louder. Sam's face was so close to hers now that Fi could see he had lost some color to his face. This was serious. She stopped her jesting.

"We can leave out the back way," Fi gestured with her head, "I have my rented car parked nearby."

"Gotcha," Sam said tiredly, as he painstakingly limped towards the door.

.

.

Fi pulled out of her parking space.

After she had been driving awhile, Sam leaned back and shut his eyes for a moment, exhausted.

"Don't fall asleep, Sam," Fi advised as she kept a keen lookout, "I need you alert and ready. If I'm not mistaken, there's a green Lincoln following us."

And here Sam had thought the worst was over. He should have known better.

"Crap, Fi, what mess did you get us into _this time_?" Sam asked.

Fi checked her rear view mirror, and pressed her foot down further on the accelerator, "What do you mean by _'us'_? I didn't remember inviting you, Sam. Anyway, it's not my mess. It's the CIA's."

She then went on to tell Sam about how she applied to be a CIA agent and was given an assignment of being a courier. All she had to do was pick up a book, but then this Fake McGrath was in the shop instead of the real McGrath that she had met the day before.

Sam's eyes got large and round.

"Does Michael know all about this?" Sam asked, as Fi made a right turn, "About you signing up for the CIA to become a sp -Crap! I can't even say it outloud! The entire idea is just too overwhelming!"

Fi did not look bothered.

"I told you, Sam, I wanted to surprise Michael. So if I had told him, then how could it have been a surprise?"

_"Ambush_ him, is more like it!" Sam stated as Fi turned to give him a slight glare, "I don't know if he's going to like this, Fi. This is dangerous work."

"Whereas everything the three of us have been doing in the past was like, _what_, visiting Disney World?"

Sam then ran his hand through his hair and groaned when he realized his hand was bloodstained.

"Damn, Fi," Sam said as he looked at his bloodied clothes and body,"You and bloodstains always seemed to go hand in hand."

"But if you noticed, Sam, once again, I am not at the receiving end."

"True, so maybe next time, I'll make sure I'll let _you_ get shot."

"Let's just put it this way, Sam...when he pointed the gun at you, you should have just jumped out of the way."

Sam turned and gave a stunned look.

"Really, Fi, you think anyone could jump out of the way _of a bullet?_" Sam looked incredulously at her, "Who am I, Superman?"

"_Please_, the thought of you in tights makes _me_ want to jump in front of that bullet," commented Fi.

"Be my guest."

They rode in silence for awhile. At one point, Fi glanced up at her rear view mirror again, a look of satisfaction on her face.

Her expression gave Sam hope.

"_What_, you've lost the tail?" he asked optimistically.

"Actually, it's quite the opposite" explained Fi calmly, "Looks like we have company. Not only is a green Lincoln behind us, we now also have a gray car trailing us."

"_What_?" Sam whipped behind him and saw what she said was true. He then turned to her, "Who the hell is in that second car? In fact, who the hell is in the first car?"

"All I know is that the fun has just begun," Fi stated cheerfully, "Hang on!"

_ Screeeeech_!

As they approached the curve, Fi applied the brakes progressively but very quickly. As she turned into the corner, she gradually released the brake. This allowed the rental car to hug the curve of Highway 618 at more than maximum speed.

"**_Fiiiiii!"_** Sam yelled as he braced himself by holding on to anything in the car that was nailed down.

After driving a ways, Fi glanced back, "Damn! I couldn't shake the green car!"

Sam turned to check and after a few seconds commented, "Whoa, looks like the gray one is back on our tail,too!"

"Like I always say" Fi said, with a slight grin, "the more, the merrier!"

Fi started quickly weaving through the light traffic. But when she looked back, it was obvious she wasn't loosing either one of them.

"Christ," said Sam, "Those two cars behind us must be professional race car drivers!"

"Don't worry Sam, I'm just getting warmed up!" Fi accelerated even faster.

The noise of the engine almost drowned her words.

"By the way," she added, "I'm going to need your help with something."

Sam turned and stared at Fi.

"Excuse me, Fi, I must be suffering a concussion and it's affecting my hearing…I could have sworn you said you needed _my_ help…but no, you would never say that!"

"Oh, so, you'd rather do our usual argumentative bantering than to be helpful, Sam?"

"Alright, say your piece," he yelled, "What do you want me to do…stick my good leg out so they could shoot the other one, too?"

"Not a bad idea, Sam, perhaps later...But right now, you know this area pretty well, right?" reasoned Fi, as she continued driving speedily, "because I can't keep driving around in circles! Between Michael's spy work and your Navy SEALs tasks, you must know of some type of safehouse in this vicinity. "

_Screech!_

With another hairpin turn, Sam's thought processes churned faster.

"Yeah, I get what you're saying, Fi. Go near the waterfront," he instructed her, as he pointed, "Turn left on Franklin Street; it should merge with Old Water Street. There's this old warehouse that I'll point out to you..."

Abruptly, Fi made a quick, fast _right_ turn against a yellow light, her tires squealing.

"Fi!" Sam yelled, as he went back to bracing himself, "Are we playing_ don't do as I say **and** not what I do?_ Didn't I just say 'left' and now you've just made a right?"

"It's called strategy, Sam" Fi said, as she took a glance back, "I'm taking this secondary road and going the long way around to try and shake them first."

She accelerator even faster before glancing in her mirrors.

"Well?" Sam asked, "Did we lose them?"

"Not quite, but there's a silver lining in all of this," replied Fi, "for not only didn't we lose them, but a _third_ black car just joined in the chase!"

.

.

Meanwhile, Michael was waiting for Pearce's response as to what happened to Agent Benjamin McGrath, Fi's contact.

"Well?" Michael gave a piercing look at Pearce. She could see the worried look in Michael's face.

"The truth of the matter is, Michael—"

Agent Pearce had a reprieve when they were interrupted by a knock on the door, as Pearce's assistant, Thomas Wright walked in and looked hesitantly at Michael, "Agent Pearce? I wanted to inform you of some recent developments in your, uh, latest case…"

He was purposely being vague.

"Is it regarding Fi?" Michael asked impatiently of Wright.

"W-what, um, not sure what you are referring to?" Wright said as he questionably looked over at Pearce.

"Her name is Fiona!" Michael sounded demanding, "Fiona Glenanne! What the hell news do you have regarding her?"

Wright was still watching his boss, Pearce, "I don't think I should…"

He looked hesitantly at his boss as Michael's expression became angrier.

Pearce sighed.

"Go ahead, you may speak in front of him, Tom" Agent Pearce allowed, now thinking that Michael could be just as stubborn as Fiona, "I'm bringing Mr. Westen in as a consultant."

Wright cleared his throat, "Well, uh…I have more details concerning the discovery of McGrath's body...actually it was a freak accident that McGrath's body had been discovered at all. It had been weighted with cement and tossed into an abandoned canal which the sanitation department had just last week earmarked—"

"Stop!"interrupted Michael, "Cut to the chase. _Fiona Glenanne._ Where is she?"

"Tom," coaxed Pearce, "Were you able to find the location of Fiona Glenanne?"

"We had Tampa Agents secretly search her hotel room and all her clothes and sundries were still there," explained Tom, "However, her suitcase, the mattress on her bed, and the pillow on it had all been slit with a knife and hurriedly searched.

"Oh, hell," Pearce murmured under her breath and then something else came to mind, "What about Harry?" She turned to Michael, "He was the person I was telling you about, her back up."

Wright looked again at Michael, although he was speaking to Pearce, "According to our sources, when they searched Harry's place, it had been torched."

Michael swore under his breath, "As in set on fire? Your experienced field agent that was assigned to Fi as back up had his room set _ablazed_? For a simple courier job? _What the hell is going on?_"

"Michael, believe me, we're as baffled as you are, " Pearce responded, her frustration so readily seen on her face, "All McGrath had been able to tell us was that he had some info he wanted to pass on to us. He had been in a tenuous situation and was unable to tell us more."

"So you have no idea where Fi is?"

"We know she had been slated for Nemo's Bookstore in Tampa." Pearce answered diplomatically. She then had another thought, "Michael, you said Sam had been tailing Fi. Perhaps he has some news to tell us. What did Sam have to tell you?"

Michael let out a snort, "You think I didn't think of that already? He's not picking up his phone either."

Pearce didn't like that news. She then turned back to her assistant, "Did the authorities ever, uh, locate Harry?"

"That's a negative, Kim," Tom simply stated, "he's also reported missing."

Pearce actually breathed a sigh of relief. At least there was a chance Harry Grant, the back up, could still be alive then.

"I've heard enough," Michael declared, as he started getting up.

"Michael," Pearce looked alarmed, "You're not off to do anything foolish are you?"

"No," responded Michael "but I intend to find out what happened to Fi and Sam."

.

.

_Thank you, thank you for all the wonderful reviews! (happy dance)_

_All reviews appreciated!_


	7. Chapter 7

To get away…or not

Chapter 7

So now Sam and Fi were being chased by _three_ cars.

"Crap!" announced Sam as he looked behind, "We're being chased by assassins, my leg is killing me, and worst of all, I'm stuck here with you! Tell me again how I got into this predicament?"

"Bad life choices?" Fi suggested.

Ah geez. Sam thought, next time he'd forced Michael to tail his _own_ girlfriend.

Looking outside the car window, everything was a blur as Fi maintained driving at a fast pace. From the passenger side, a contorted-faced Sam yelped in anguish as Fi went over a large bump in the road.

"Yeow!"

"Well, that's strange," Fi noted as she glanced into her rearview mirror.

"_What_, that I'm yelping?" Sam asked, as he groaned in order to change positions, "because I do that when there's a bullet in me and you hit a bump as big as a mountain."

Swerving around another sharp turn on the opened highway, they both leaned with the curve.

"Oh Sam, that's probably the only real exercise your leg has received in two weeks," Fi casually stated, "No, that is not what I meant by strange.. what is strange is that there were at least two places where the cars could have closed in on us and pushed us off the road. But they didn't do that."

"You almost sound disappointed, Fi."

She shrugged.

"Well, it's just that I was ready for some action...and then nothing."

"Nothing, _nothing_?" Sam wondered, "This isn't CGI! _They're actually after us_! Who _are_ these guys and why are they chasing us, anyway?"

"Well, being that I am a working CIA spy, I have to think like a spy," Fi reasoned, "and the way I see it, they want to take me in alive. They want to interrogate me. Perhaps they'll do the thirty second interrogation technique where they ask a you a question and you must answer quickly without repeating yourself or using personal pronouns. If you can't do it, you are a dissident...and not good in grammar, either... _Ask 'em, slap 'em_ is what I always say."

She grinned, enjoying the idea that she was thinking like a spy.

Sam stared at Fi.

"Uh, you've done the interrogation thing before, haven't you, Fi?"

"Once, twice, 104 times...but who's counting?" Fi asked as she accelerated.

"Uh...Fi...couldn't it be that they are chasing us just because they want the _book_?" Sam innocently asked.

Sometimes the best answer is the obvious one.

Fi turned to Sam, "On the keyboard _of Sam,_ I wish I could just press the escape key." she stated.

Sam grinned as he sat back in his seat, glad he scored one over on Fi.

They drove on.

The road was still heavy with traffic, although Fi managed to keep a fast pace. She fluidly weaved in and out of the dense traffic with ease. They were being carried further away from the town into a less dense area.

Sam suddenly grabbed onto the dash, "Red alert, Fi! Straight ahead...parked car pulling out!"

Fi slammed on her brakes. A parked white car now unhurriedly swung out into traffic, cutting off Fi and forcing her to slow her pace.

"_Damn it, Sunday driver!_" Fi bellowed as the white car seemed to trudge along. She started crazily honking her horn.

_Honk! Honk! Honk!_

"Uh, Fi," Sam pointed out, "I don't think that's the best way to draw attention _away_ from us."

"What is wrong with people... driving the speed limit!" Fi complained, "If he can't drive the way I want, he should get off the road!"

Sam stared at her.

"...And this coming from a person who thinks stop signs and red lights are merely suggestions!" Sam commented.

"What's your point?"

"Uh..okay...why not just pass the guy when you get a chance?" Sam suggested.

Fi smiled.

"Brilliant suggestion," Fi responded, as she revved up her engine and changed into the next lane before passing the slow moving vehicle, her tires screeching at times from the quick maneuvering.

"Fiii!" Sam yelled as Fi quickly cut in front of the white car again, "What the hellll?"

"What's the matter? I just did as you said, Sam," responded Fi calmly, "I went on the other lane and passed the jerk!"

"That wasn't a passing lane, Fi...that was the _sidewalk_!" Sam insisted, his knuckles white from clinging.

"I didn't see anyone walking...did you?" asked Fi.

"Not anymore!"

Looking behind them, they could see that the slow-moving white car was now in back of their Audi, but in front of the gray, green and black vehicles. But both Sam and Fi knew it was only a matter of time before the three vehicles would catch up with them again.

"This has been fun," stated Fi, "but it has gone on a bit too long. I think it's time we find out who is who and let the chip...or in this case,_cars_...fall where they may.."

"Fi," began Sam, "What the hell does that mean…"

"Stop talking and just hold on, Sam!"

Abruptly Fi changed directions to the right and down another less crowded side street. The three cars followed suit. Fi calmly gunned the car's engine and made a reckless U-turn in the narrow street, knocking off the taillight of a parked SUV.

Once her car was facing the opposite way, she proceeded to play "chicken" by pitching forward with her vehicle, towards the oncoming cars that had been previously been chasing _her_.

"_Fi!_" yelled Sam, "What the hell? We're heading straight for them!" He crossed his arms in front of him. Like that would do any good.

"Nothing gets by you, does it, Sam?"

Fi had almost reached the three fast-coming vehicles. When she was close enough, she veered left expertly and flattened her vehicle as much as she could against the left sidewalk. Electrical-looking charges skidded off the wall and the side of her vehicle. Despite her superior maneuverings, she still sideswiped the gray car before she whizzed by the other two.

But calmly she just drove on. Soon she and Sam were back onto the main highway.

"Holy crap!" Sam said, trying to catch his breath, "We barely got out of a head on collision! I was so mad at you for putting me in that precarious situation that I saw YOUR life passing before my eyes!"

Sam looked back and murmured a few more choice cuss words. The green car and the black car had once again fallen into line behind them, still in hot pursuit.

"Damn it, we didn't shake all of them...there's still two following us!"

Fi revved up her motor.

"Good," said Fi calmly looking at her mirrors, "Gray car down, two more to go!"

"Oh, crap!" said Sam.

"Don't worry, I'll lose the other two," assured Fi.

"No, I'm not saying 'crap' because of the two- car wannabe assassins, although, I do hope you do lose them," Sam announced as he held onto his thigh, "No, I'm talking about my leg...it's bleeding again!"

"Oh for heaven's sake Sam, _do something_! I don't want you to bloody this rental car! The cleaning bill is ridiculously high for removal of bloodstains on the seats!"

"Yeah," said Sam sardonically, " That was my first reaction, too, when blood started gushing out of me!"

They were almost on Franklin Street, which was part of their destination. Fi better do something. And quick.

As they proceeded onward, the cars on the road became less. The thinning traffic allowed the green car to quickly speed up, and pull ahead to drive beside them.

"Damn," Fi said as the green car was now bumping the side of their vehicle, the hard thrust meant to push them off the road, "I'm pulling over, Sam!"

They had no choice. She turned down an rarely used street and parked next to the curb of a quiet industrial street.

The green car pulled in ahead of them while the black car drew up a distance behind them; in other words, they were neatly boxed in by the two vehicles.

"Fi," asked Sam, looking worried, "do you know what you are doing?"

She did not turn off her engine, "Don't I always?"

Fi then leaned her arm across Sam's side of the vehicle. Her elbow slightly touched his leg.

"Uh, Fi, you're not going to confess your true feelings for me, are you?" Sam asked as her arm lightly skimmed over his leg.

Fi rolled her eyes as she opened the glove compartment, "You really wouldn't want to know my true feelings about you Sam. You're not old enough to hear them!"

She then pulled out a 9mm Smith and Wesson.

"Hey! I thought you weren't suppose to have any weap-" he began, "Oh, that's right, this is _you_ we're talking about."

"And who said _diamonds_ were a girl's best friend?" Fi wryly smiled.

Meanwhile, as the look out the front of their windshield, the door of the green car opened and a burly man in a black suit and tie with sunglasses climbed out.

He approached them smiling pleasantly, but both Sam and Fi noted the uneven bulge he had in his jacket.

Fi casually rolled down her window and stuck out her head with a pleasant smile on her lips as if she wanted to ask for directions or to exchange neighborly courtesies.

But as the man neared them, he reached into his jacket and sure enough, produced a gun.

And that's when Fi also poked _her_ gun out her window and quickly fired.

Sam closed his eyes and heard three shots. The guy probably had been shot three times in the heart.

When Sam opened his eyes, he was somewhat relieved to discover that Fi had only hit the man's right hand once, and that the thug was now staring dazedly at the blood dripping from his wrist . Pain would soon follow, Sam thought. He should know.

Then Sam noted the results of the other two shots. Evidently they had efficiently punctured the tires of both the green and the black car, for they were slowly deflating, almost in a cartoon-like way.

Then Fi effectively backed up her car, ramming the gray car behind them, pulled forward, hitting the green car, and headed towards the main street –this time, fully alone.

Sam looked back and gave a whistle.

"Wowza, Fi!" exclaimed a pleased Sam as he turned forward again, "I have no idea why I had ever doubted you!"

Fi tried to hide her grin, "Just don't do it the next time, Sam."

.

.

Michael stood watching the front of Nemo's Bookstore.

According to Agent Pearce, this was the location of where Fi was to pick up the drop. Strange, that there was now a sign posted on the window that read, "Closed until further notice."

Well, Michael certainly wasn't going to wait until opening day.

Going around the back to the alleyway, he looked around. He inserted two steel thick needle- like objects in the lock of the door, twisting it this way and that, until he heard a successful click.

He entered the shop.

Michael did not know what he expected to find. Michael had to duck underneath all the yellow police tape. Looking around, he thought it really was just a typical bookstore. As he walked around its interior, he noted some dark blotches on the floor, against one of the walls.

He knelt down and upon closer inspection, it was just as he thought—bloodstains.

His heart thumped with dread…_Fi's?_

He had been so concentrated on what could have happened, that he didn't hear the sounds of footsteps behind him until it was too late.

"Hands up!" the voice growled.

Michael put my hands up in the air.

Turning around, Michael came face to face with Fake McGrath, although he didn't know the guy's name yet. Glancing left and then right, Michael noted another man a distance off, with a gun of some sort trained on Michael's head.

"So where is it?" growled the First Guy

"Where's what?" Michael asked.

The First Guy slapped Michael on the side of his head with the gun.

"The goddamn book!" the man was impatient.

"If I had the '_goddamn book_'," Michael asked logically, "then why would I be here?"

As the man contemplated how to answer, Michael attacked before they could.

Michael instantly ducked and dived, as though he were in a swimming pool, at the unknown gunman.

Meanwhile the second guy had fired, but the guy made the common mistake of covering Michael by pointing his gun at Michael's head. With Michael's diving, the goon's aim ended up being too high.

Instinct took over Michael. along with a silent mantra echoing in his head: Save Fi, save Sam. He needed to move faster.

He had to do several things at once before he could even begin to find Fi and Sam, however: keep low, avoid getting hit, pull the gun form his leg holster and shoot anyone that got in his way.

Michael now slammed his fist into First Guy's abdomen. Fake McGrath had fired a shot, but it went wild. Since Michael was now so close, First Guy then swung the butt of his gun at Michael's chin.

Michael's head flew back, but then he recovered quickly. In some other world, at some other time, it might have really hurt, but right now with Michael's adrenaline running, it had the impact of a bee sting. Michael's goal was to find out what happened to Sam and Fi and nothing could stop him from finding out.

Except, perhaps being outgunned.

The goon that had been on his left was running towards him, his weapon raised. He fired. Michael jumped back, but it was too late.

Michael was hit.

He remembered feeling hot pain as something hard ripped into his body, stealing his breath away and knocking him flat on his back.

Lying in a prone position, Michael brought his head up and looked down at his body at where he had been hit. He realized it wasn't a bullet...it looked like a dart of some sort was sticking out of the side of his body.

The secondary thug then walked up and hovered over Michael. Smiling maliciously, he raised what looked like a tranquilizer gun right at Michael, who was already gasping in pain.

Michael heard words uttered from the first guy as he began losing consciousness.

"Careful! We need him alive!"

The fight was gone from Michael and he felt someone kicking him. The last thing he remembered was another shot fired and afterwards he felt a pain as enormous as any he had ever known consuming him.

And then Michael's eyes closed.

.

.

_Thanks again for all the kind words! Please review..._


	8. Chapter 8

The Mystery unfolds

Chapter 8

Agent Pearce was reading the email she just received from the Tampa Police. They now had a description of the unknown man who had been mysteriously running McGrath's shop for two days.

She was looking now at a sketch made by the police artist that had been faxed over. The unknown person looked like one of thousands of males that walked the streets any time of any day. Nothing really stood out about his appearance. Yet, to Pearce, there was something familiar about him.

And that's what sent off alarms in her head.

"Oh damn," mumbled Pearce as she sat back, staring at the sketch.

Her assistant, Thomas Wright, sat across from her, "_What_? You think you might know who he is?"

"No. It can't be! "Pearce spoke in a hushed tone, before looking at her assistant "By God, Tom, I hope I'm wrong!"

She clicked onto her computer and typed her secret password into one particular covert CIA site. A printed picture came up with a description. The word "DANGEROUS was flashing in red on top.

"Dammit..." Pearce gave a sigh of dread,"...from that description and what had happened to McGrath, there's a possibility that the man in the bookstore was Gideon Hunter!"

Tom Wright's eyes got very large, "but...how is that even possible?"

All the agents had heard of _The Butcher_.

A mercenary assassin, _The Butcher_ was rumored to have been hired by dirty CIA agents, who had turned rogue against their country. Hunter had been linked to at least five known murders of CIA agents in Europe, two in the U.S. and one in South America.

Hunter would systematically get in, kill and get out. And he'd always worked alone; no one would ever guess that the average-looking individual in the crowd was a hired assassin. He'd hit and simply vanish.

After a man-wide search for five years, The Butcher was eventually caught, but not before he had murdered CIA agents worldwide.

Pearce began putting the pieces together. Perhaps Agent McGrath, before he had been murdered, was attempting to pass along the rumored 'List' which involved _The Butcher._

Supposedly this was a list of unknown criminal CIA operatives in the field. That would be a list worth killing for, Pearce thought as she shuddered.

"The last I heard," Wright stated, "was that The Butcher was safely locked away at Riker's in New York City."

That's the same news I had heard, "Pearce acknowledged, "We need to verify that Hunter is still incarcerated." There was a steely determination in her eyes, "Tom, I want you to connect me to the Police Commissioner in New York City …while you do that, I'll inform Westen."

Pearce had begun wondering if she did the right thing by sending Fi out so soon, with such little information. But how could Pearce had known the most wanted assassin in CIA history would be involved in this simple courier mission?

"I'll get right on it..." Tom stated, and yet he hesitated in his seat.

Noticing Tom's reluctance to act, Pearce asked, "Is there something else that needs my attention, Tom?"

"It's just that..." Tom began, "...well, I don't know if I should tell you..."

Alarms went off in Pearce's head, "More bad news is _not_ what I need right now, Tom..."

"No, no..." assured Tom, "if anything...it _may_ be good news...but it's unconfirmed..."

Pearce breath out in relief, "Go ahead..."

"There have been...reports...scattered,_ unconfirmed_ reports, now...that one of our Audi cars was involved in a cars chase."

Pearce furrowed her brow, "You mean 'a car chase'?"

"No, '_cars_ chase'," Tom almost sounded in awe, "Seems _three_ cars were chasing a lone Audi through the streets of Tampa..."

_Audi...Tampa..._

Agent Pearce leaned forward, excitement in her voice, "And you think this Audi might be the one we assigned Fiona Glenanne?"

"Too early to say," Tom said, "That's why I wasn't sure I should have told you."

"What else do you know about the 'cars chase', Tom?"

"Not much more," Tom said, "Rather strange really...It was reported to have been a fast, frenzied chase, and then...nothing...no sign of _any_ of the vehicles...it's like it never happened."

_"She's escaped,_" Pearce said almost in a whisper to herself, "...she got away from THREE cars chasing her..."

And with this news, Pearce smiled for the first time that day.

"That would be grand, wouldn't it?" Tom stated in admiration, as he got up to leave, "...anyway, I'll connect you with the police commissioner now, Kim..."

"Dani," she spoke out.

Tom stopped to look at her again.

"What? 'Dani'?" he repeated, a puzzled expression on his face.

Pearce smiled for the second time today.

"You may call me Dani from now on," insisted Pearce, "It's_ stronger_."

.

.

Fi and Sam had finally arrived at the warehouse on the wharf. Most of the buildings were opened and easy to enter, but one of three hidden buildings stood apart and isolated, surrounded by a high wall that ran to the left and right of the gate.

They drove up to the front of the gate. Sam stuck his head out with a wide smile plastered on his face, for the security camera to see.

It took a while, but the gate finally opened slowly and Fi pulled her car in.

Once inside, the gate door immediately started closing again. A lone man, wearing a standard warehouse uniform, came out to greet them. He was of Mexican descent with dark skin, sharp brown eyes, approximately the same age as Sam.

"Hey, Sammy!" he said his arms outstretched as he clasped Sam's hand from the inside of the car, "¡Qué sorpresa! What a surprise! Long time no see, eh?"

"Roberto, buddy!" Sam seemed genuinely happy to see him.

Fi took in the moment, thinking this was one of the few times she actually saw one of Sam's contacts instead of Sam's usual boasting of, "I've got a contact down in...". . At times, Fi assumed Sam made up the contact part, that somehow he was just very good at utilizing Craig's list or something.

Go figure.

"I almost didn't recognize you, you look like the father of you!" the man jested with Sam.

Sam opened the passenger door of the car and couldn't help but grimace as he stood up, supporting himself with the door of the vehicle. Roberto's mouth dropped as his eyes followed down Sam's bloodied leg, "But what happened to you here, mi amigo? It's like I'm reliving the old days in Latin America with you!"

"Yeah, " kidded Sam, "I've been hanging out with the wrong crowd again. Feels like I got shot _while_ getting shot!"

Roberto was going to laugh until he noted Sam in pain.

"But enough of this idle chitchat! You and your lovely lady friend need food! Need rest! Peppino!" he yelled out, "Get a wheelchair for our friend here!"

From out of seemingly nowhere, a younger man arrived in no time, pushing a wheelchair.

Peppino was helping Sam to sit in the wheelchair as Roberto now eyed Fi. He then turned back to Sam, who was now comfortably seated.

"Ho-ho, my friend, I see you haven't done bad for yourself! Still have the way with the ladies, I see!"

"Pfft! Her?" Sam dismissed her with a wave,"That's just Fi."

"Sam!" Fi gave him a look of annoyance.

Sam's friend gallantly bowed in Fi's presence, "Roberto Diego at your service."

Fi nodded, "Roberto."

Roberto smiled, "I see, Senorita, that you are too good for this uncouth man," he said as he gestured at Sam," If you ever drop him, I will show you how a real man treats a lady!"

She bit back her tongue at the thought that Sam and her were…she didn't even want to think about it.

.

.

The CIA have many safehouses throughout the country. This one, like the others was used by undercover agents as a meeting place and/or for refuge. Besides having complete living quarters, it was fully equipped with the latest in CIA computer technology.

Sam had retired for the day as Peppino attended to his leg. Meanwhile, Fi gave a description of the man and Diego had a look of trepidation with Fi's description.

Fi was then given a quick dinner and was shown her room for tonight.

It was a nice little room, thought Fi, simple yet friendly with whitewashed stucco walls, two wooden chairs and a plain small table. Almost like a room in a real house.

Michael would be so proud of her, she thought. Well, except for the part that she didn't get the book. That will be remedied soon enough, Fi was sure of that.

After she did some cleaning up, Fi lay on the bed, intending to get out her book and do some reading. She took some time to look about. This room reminded her of a room in a real home, what it would be have a 9-5 job, without danger always being around the corner and CIA agents milling just outside her room. She sighed, wishing Michael was right by her side now.

Instead, she turned off the light and two minutes later she was sound asleep.

.

.

Fi woke up to bright sunlight, for she had neglected to draw the curtains across the windows last night. She lay wondering for a moment where she was, and then, remembering, sat up and looked at her watch; it was only 7 am. What had wakened her were the sounds of footsteps outside. Leaving her bed, she quickly got ready for her new day.

Sam's door was still closed, so she continued down the hall towards the kitchen, passing a living room and another lit room with computers and security monitors.

In the kitchen, Peppino had already prepared oatmeal and grapefruit. Roberto Diego, obviously finished with his breakfast, and was seated at the table reading a file.

"Help yourself to the coffee, Senorita Fi," he smiled and gestured towards the big pot.

Fi poured herself a mug and got a helping of breakfast, "You can just call me, Fi."

She brought her breakfast to the table.

"A beautiful woman like yourself deserves to be treated like a fine lady with a respectful title , no?" he asked, still smiling.

Fi sat at the table, wondering why people needed all this useless talk. Small talk never got anything accomplished. Getting some information did.

"How's Sam?" she asked.

The smile disappeared from Roberto's face, "Ah, Senorita, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but not so good. Peppino cleaned his wound last night and our Sam is running a fever. Plus we must watch for infection."

"He's not 'our Sam'."

"Oh?" Roberto seemed to see her in a new light, "You mean you two aren't...uh, _sharing files_?"

Small talk peppered with annoying cute sayings was the worst of all.

"No," Fi said with disdain, "I would never open his file."

Roberto expression showed surprise.

"Then the senorita is single, no?"

"You're right. _No_."

Roberto understood completely.

"Ah, he is a lucky man, whoever this mystery man is, then," concurred Roberto.

Even the implied mention of Michael was making her miss him more. She needed to stay on task here.

Fi was concerned but outwardly she was casual, "I think it's wise you keep Sam in bed and let him heal slowly. Otherwise, he'll be off and away in an hour or two, hunting down whoever shot him-and probably getting shot in the other leg. It's better he rest. I won't need him anyway."

Roberto looked amused, "An independent senorita, I see! I will certainly convey that message to Peppino! In the meantime I have been reading a file…"

Fi's eyes shown with interest, "So you can tell me who Fake McGrath really is?"

Roberto Diego leaned forward, "Yes, Senorita, but that is _not_ the file I was reading just now. I have in front of me YOUR file, and I must tell you, your involvement with the CIA as a civilian reads like a great American adventure novel! _¡Muy interesante!_"

"Not civilian...CIA _trainee_," Fi held her head up high, "At least for _now_, but soon, I plan to be leading my own missions."

Roberto chuckled, "Quite confident for one so young and pretty."

Fi took a bit of her oatmeal.

"So," said Fi, changing subjects, "I suppose you told Agent Pearce how I was not able to complete my mission. Yet."

Roberto surprisingly shook his head, "No, we try and give out as little information as possible to headquarters. This indeed is a dark time for CIA operatives, for we know not whom to trust and not trust."

Fi looked puzzled.

"You need to tell me what you mean by that," she said.

For a split second he hesitated.

"It is fortunate that I trust your friend, Sam," he stated, "for if he trusts you with secrets, I must, too."

"Tell me, then , " she sounded impatient, " why all this CIA secrecy?"

"Ahh!" said Roberto, not at all offended, "I like a woman who knows what she wants!"

So as Fi finished her breakfast, Diego gave her the identity of Benjamin McGrath. He also informed her how a small group of unscrupulous CIA double agents had been involved in criminal activities; gun smuggling, drugs, prostitution, and so forth. He explained that good agents were being eliminated and he believed these rogue operatives were involved.

"You mean, the bad guys, who work full time for the CIA, are killing the good guys?"

Roberto shook his head, "It would not be possible they would do the killing themselves, Senorita. No, they must have someone doing the jobs for them."

"Whom would that be?" asked Fi.

"The best killer we know is someone we call _The Butcher,_" Roberto whispered the name, like it was sacred, "He is mucho ruthless, Senorita. His name is Gideon Hunter and the style of killings tell me it is him! They also say Hunter keep a list of all bad CIA agents. That list means much to both sides."

"So why doesn't the CIA get him?" she asked.

"We did! Hunter was put in jail," Roberto said, "but he is smart, and he is slippery. I fear he is out. But that is just my theory in my head..."

"How do you know so much of this, Roberto?" asked Fi.

"We in the spy world are a small family, are we not?" Roberto stated quietly, "and like a family, we hear things from other agents."

A 'List' of evil CIA agents. The Great Gatsby book. Everything started to make sense to Fi. The agent trying to get the list to CIA authorities was McGrath. And McGrath had probably hid the ' List' in "The Great Gatsby" book.

Fi mumbled something outloud, "Microfilm."

"What?" Roberto asked.

She turned slowly to face him, her eyes bright.

"That secret list...it could have been put on microfilm, right?" she asked, "or something so small so that it could be smuggled back to CIA headquarters, say, in a deck of cards, a flower pot or …even a _book_."

"Si! Yes! it is possible that information could be passed that way!" Roberto looked impressed, "We have used that method before, but how does this concern you?"

Fi looked composedly at Roberto, "That had been my mission..."

"So you have the 'List'?" he looked hopeful. She did not directly answer him.

" I will get the book into CIA hands." Fi stated it like a fact.

"Can this be?" Roberto's eye got round as he looked at the petite woman sitting across from him, "And how do you propose to do this, Senorita Fi?"

Fi took another spoonful of her breakfast before answering in a neutral, but confident tone.

"Very simple, really," Fi propose, "I plan to capture _The Butcher_ myself."

.

.

_(PM still not working, but thank you for ALL reviews...to Emma-special thanks)_

_Please review._


	9. Chapter 9

Missing

.

Chapter 9

Michael is in total darkness.

His first thought

is of Fi.

His second thought

is of being more thirsty than hungry.

Then blackness.

.

The next time he is conscious, he feels brightness on his closed eyelids.

Dark shadows hovering.

Voices in the background.

They seem very far away and he can't make out any words.

Just sounds. Angry sounds.

Voices become louder. Now they are in his ears.

"Wer-air-et"

Michael opens mouth.

Throat is chalky.

No sound.

An insistent voice is shouting at him.

"Wer-air-et! Wer-air-et!"

A different voice, "He doesn't understand."

Then nothing.

.

Spasm.

Michael wakes up to pain and he cries out.

"_Fiiiii!"_

No reply.

"Enough" second voice says.

Darkness.

.

Shivering.

Eyes can't open.

He is lying down on something cold.

Someone shoves him... "Hey you!"

He understands words now.

Michael blinks.

Bright, white light.

He squints. Everything looks blurry.

His head feels heavy, like he's in a fog.

Two shadows, one speaks out.

"You are working for the CIA!"

Michael nods. Doesn't know why.

Tired. Wants to sleep, wants to drift away forever…

"You know about us. You've heard the rumors."

_Us? Rumors?_ Michael is confused...

Must rest. Closes eyes.

Voice in Michael's ear.

"Nobody knows where you are, nobody will find you. We can keep you forever, or we can kill you on a whim."

Michael shakes...

Fingers wrap around Michael's biceps.

Something bad will happen to him.

Must fight...must fi-

Something is pricking his arm. _Nooo..._

It hurts.

"_Fiiii_!" he screams in his head.

_Why isn't she here?_

.

.

At CIA headquarters, Agent Pearce had been occupied with various conferences upstairs that had proven vital to national security. Going back to her own office, she had been unprepared when her assistant, Thomas Wright, had entered.

"You might want to take the call on line two," Wright told Pearce, "It's Harry Grant."

Harry Grant had been the agent hired to keep surveillance on Fi in Tampa. The agency had assumed the worst when his place had been torched and he had gone missing.

So he was alive after all. Pearce closed her eyes to give a silent prayer of thanks. She then concluded that he had been in one of the cars chasing Fi.

Pearce punched line two, "Pearce here. What's going on, Harry?"

At the other end a disgruntled voice said, "_What the hell kind of agent did you send for me to babysit, Kim?_"

Agent Pearce couldn't help the smile that escaped from her lips at the idea that Harry didn't appreciate being Fi's back-up. She and her assistant exchanged grins.

"Why _Harry,_ what do you mean?"

"She's crazier than any bad guys I have _ever_ encountered, hands down!"

"Crazier?" Pearce asked innocently, yet knowingly.

"Yeah, you heard me right!" growled Harry, "She's a real nut job! _Just make sure she goes in and out of the bookstore with a book,_ you tell me...ha! Some simple surveillance job!"

Pearce didn't know whether to continue grinning or be alarmed.

"Go on, I'm listening, Harry."

"Yeah, you listening in the comfort of your office!" Harry guffawed, "So get this...I'm watching her go in the bookstore at 9:50, right? But she's in there for a bit and I sense trouble, so I decide to investigate. By the time I get down from my perch, I see this Hawaiian shirt guy sneaking towards the back of the shop..."

_A guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt?_

_Sam? _she asked herself,_ w_hat is Sam Axe doing there?

"Pearce, you still there or what?"

"Harry, I'm here," Pearce assured him, "please continue.."

"Yeah, okay," said Harry, "Anyways, as I'm heading inside, I hear a gunshot. I rush to take a look inside and...and... I see Agent Nut over there doing some _Kung Fu_ _Master on amphetamines _moves on this other guy...yeah, you heard me!...and in-between that , she musta shot the HawaiianShirt guy with her left toe because he was bleeding some and I wouldn't be surprised if she ate a midget afterwards! "

Pearce either cleared her throat or snorted, "That's...some...descriptive action."

"Tell me about it!" Harry exclaimed, "so...I figure I better go in - if only to help the other guy- when this old lady behind me began beating me with her purse, so I skedaddled outta there and called the cops."

"What about Agent Glenanne..." Pearce was concerned, "did you see her leave? Did she look harmed?"

"That's a negative," Harry said, "She wasn't hurt unless you count her sore knuckles after beating up the guy so badly... So...then I see Agent Nut drive off with Hawaiian Shirt guy. After I get PurseWhacker off of me, I follow them in my car. Before I know it, two _other_ cars are following me and the Nut Agent!"

"So she's being chased by three cars now?" Pearce asked. This verified what she had heard earlier from her assistant.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "I always knew if it had wheels or a skirt, it would give me trouble. Now I got both here!"

"Right, right..." Pearce had to keep Harry on track, "So, then, what?"

"So we high-speed all though town, Agent Nut taking the corners like she's Mario _effing_ Andretti. Finally we get her corner on this one street, no way out for her..."

Fi cornered. Pearce's heart was pounding.

"So she's trap." Pearce made it sound like a finality.

"No _way_..." Harry countered, " This is the part she goes _ballistics_!"

"_What?_"

"Oh, yeah!" Harry's voice was loud and clear, "She swerves her car, makes a U, hits a SUV, and heads straight towards us...headlights to headlights!"

Pearce looked over to her assistant who looked wide-eyed.

"...but she obviously passes all three of you and escapes?" Pearce wistfully asked.

"Are you kidding me?" Harry shouted through the speaker, "_She crashes into me!_"

"_What?_" Pearce's mouth dropped.

"Yeah, wham! bam! thank you ma'am! It was like being in a scene from _Die Hard: Stunt Driving Street __Vengeance_ or something! She skidded off the walls and rammed her car into me before taking off again!"

"So she got away..." Pearce said in awe.

"_Yeah_, if you call being chased by the other two cars getting away!"

"Oh?" Pearce's adrenaline was pumping, "Did you know what happened to them?"

"Yeah, stupid, delusional me, I decided to follow them, wrecked car and all!" Harry exclaimed.

"So...then what?"

"Then I catch up with them," Harry declared, "and that's when the shooting begins..."

"...t-the shooting?" Pearce blinked quickly," The other two cars were _shooting_ at her?"

"You would think that, wouldn't you?" Harry sounded sarcastic, "But _noooo_, it was Agent Nut being her nutty self! Bang! Bang! Bang!Then off she drives off into the sunset!"

Dani and her assistant leaned back in their chairs. She didn't know if she should feel admiration or shock.

"So you didn't follow her, Harry?"

"Follow her? Jesus H. Christ! I couldn't get far enough away from her!" Harry insisted.

He was being sarcastic, for the truth was, his car had become inoperable.

Pearce sighed, "Anything else?"

"Anything else? You hear all about Street Armageddon and you want to know if there's anything _else_?"

A sigh erupted from Pearce. Next time she'll have to assign a calmer agent to backup Fi.

"You know what I mean, Harry...and I must commend you on a great job you did, considering..." complimented Pearce, "Oh! One question, Harry...you didn't _happen_ to notice whether or not she had the book in her possession, did you?"

"Naw, she wasn't driving a see-through car," he replied sardonically.

Pearce figured there was a good chance Fi did have the book; otherwise, why would the other two vehicles be chasing her? There was a sense of relief. Fi was safe, at least for now.

"Just one other thing, Harry," Pearce said, "...those other two vehicles…did you get a good look at the drivers? Can you describe them?"

Despite Harry Grant being a grouch at times, he was actually a very good, observant agent.

"Not much.." Harry said, "with the first car, the green one, there were two macho guys in suits and sunglasses."

Perhaps rogue CIA agents? theorized Pearce to herself.

"Not a lot to go on," said Pearce, "What about the other car?"

"There was one guy in the black vehicle," Harry recounted, "Let's see... Hmm... dark hair...just kinda nondescript, actually."

_The Butcher?_ Pearce's blood froze.

She at least took comfort that Fi was still alive, and possibly with Sam.

But where was Michael? Pearce had been trying to reach him all day and he hadn't picked up. That was so unlike him. Michael would want to leave his phone on and pick up all calls in case there was news regarding his girlfriend.

Pearce's temple was throbbing. Another headache coming on.

Her assistant, Thomas Wright, who had been quiet the whole time, dug into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of aspirin.

"Thanks, " said Pearce, "You're a lifesaver."

"A lifesaver?" Harry mistakenly spoke out, "The only life I saved was my own! "

"No, uh, I wasn't talking to you, Harry," Pearce said, and then added sternly, "But regarding you now, you need to stay out in the field. We can get a new car out to you because you still need to find Agent Glenanne."

"_You're kidding, right?_" he said, "You got any other agent with full coverage life insurance besides me?"

Pearce was not in the mood for this. With all the budget cuts, they didn't exactly have a battalion of extra agents laying around, and she wouldn't have time to apprise them of the situation anyway.

"It's you, Harry," decided Pearce, "Or you could come back to the office and deal with all the paperwork to be processed here. That was one doozy of a story you told us. Hopefully the agency won't insist on a psyche evaluation for you."

She heard an audible frustrated sigh coming from Harry's side.

"I should have retired when I had the chance!" he remarked and then he reluctantly added "_Fine!_ I'll be the crash test dummy one more time...So how am I supposed to find her? By checking all Audis in the Tampa area to see which one has my car paint on its front bumper?"

"If you have to," Pearce said.

"Seriously, Kim?" Harry sounded incredulous, "Come on! Don't bust my chops here!"

"I'm not," Pearce said, "and just to let you know, I'm calling myself Dani from now on..."

"What?" Harry impatiently relayed back, "You've taken on a new identity because of this?"

"No, Harry," Pearce said, "It's a long story but that's neither here nor there ...so regarding this mission, I may have a lead for you, but I can't guarantee anything."

"What is it?" Harry asked almost reluctantly.

"First I need to preface it with the fact that this whole debacle may involve Gideon Hunter," said Pearce.

She heard a low whistle coming from his end.

"Mother of all that is holy!" said Harry, "_The Butcher_? Wasn't he thrown in the slammer two years ago or something?"

"We have a call out to Rikers now," Pearce said, "Until we find out if this mission involves him, you need to watch yourself."

"_Hey, _if I lived through this, I can live through anything!" Harry insisted, "So this lead you have...is it possibly involving Hunter's location?"

"Yes, in an indirect way," stated Kim, "Records show that his mother lives in Tampa. You can scope out her place in hopes Sonny will make an appearance."

"Mommy Butcher, eh?" Harry considered, "Okay, I'll go check it out..."

"Keep me posted, Harry," Pearce reminded him before she hung up.

Afterwards, Pearce looked at her assistant, Thomas Wright, who had a grin on his young face.

"That narrative Harry told us was _amazing_..." noted Wright his eyes shining brightly with admiration, "Miss Glenanne is certainly holding her own out there in the field!"

"True..." Pearce felt somehow proud as she sat taller, "and regarding her and Harry, at least we have two agents safe," then her smile faded, "but we still have an injured Sam Axe and a missing Michael Westen in the mix. "

"Yeah," Wright suddenly became solemn, "And also...where is _The Butche_r now, and _who is in possession of that book?"_

.

.

In the afternoon, Fi found Sam sitting up in the 'living room' of the safehouse, which consisted of one long sofa. He was reading an old _People _magazine, his injured foot resting on a stool.

"_Really_?" Fi asked, looking at the cover, of the magazine "What kind of magazine is this?…and who are those people on the cover?" She took a closer look, "...this…Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie?"

Her expression was a puzzled scowl.

That got Sam's attention as he now looked up at her, "Tell me you're kidding, Fi. You've never heard of those two? Have you been living under a rock?"

"No" shrugged Fi, "But they can't be known for their looks...they're fairly average looking people, if you ask me."

"_Average looking_? Just…never mind," Sam was too tired to make the effort.

Fi took a seat next to Sam. Despite Peppino attending to Sam's injuries, he still had a bedraggled look about him.

"Why the glum look?" Fi asked him, "You look like you've lost your best friend…but as you can see, I'm right in front of you…"

"That's why I'm looking glum."

"Funny, Sam…well, just to let you know, I am in a marvelous mood!"

"Uh-oh," responded Sam, "I don't like the sound of that! What could be going on in that dangerous head of yours?"

"Well, first, thank you for the compliment," Fi acknowledged, "anyway, it's just that I was in the tech room with Roberto, going over what little information they had on _The Butcher_ and one thing that stuck out was that his mother actually resides in Tampa."

"And?" questioned Sam.

"_And_, I plan to do some snooping over there tonight. Maybe there is a clue as to The Butcher's whereabouts."

"Not without me, you aren't!" Sam stated firmly.

Fi looked doubtfully at him.

"Sam, you still have a temperature," she reminded him, "and don't forget about your leg. There's danger out there, too."

"Well, there's boredom in here, sister!" exclaimed Sam, "Look at me! I'm sitting here reading an outdated magazine about an _unknown, plain- looking couple_! I'm going crazy in this place already!"

"You going crazy? I guess you are getting back to normal, Sam," Fi jested, "But seriously, I think you need to stay and rest up."

"I plan to do that for the rest of the day," Sam said, "but tonight I am going to go prowling with you, _no matter what_! After all, _somebody_ has to protect the bad guys from you!"

Fi grinned, "Why Sam, you are just full of compliments today, aren't you?"

.

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_Please review._


	10. Chapter 10

Everyone needs help sometime

Chapter 10

Sam and Fi were on their way to the home of _The Butcher's_ mother.

Earlier Fi had called _The Butcher's_ mother, telling her she had won the Publisher's Clearing House consolation prize of $15,000 and needed to collect the winnings in Orlando. Fi figured the woman would be gone for three hours, tops.

Roberto was at the wheel as Fi sat in front with him, Sam in the back. It was decided that Roberto would park the car out of sight and then bring the car back around to them in 45 minutes.

"Are you sure there are no dogs at Mama Butcher's place?" Sam asked from the back.

Fi wondered why he even asked, "Sam, let's just put it this way, if you hear 'woof woof' floating through the air, expect at least one dog."

"Funny, Fi," said Sam sarcastically, "and if they _do_ come, I'll just do cat sounds while at the same time pointing to you."

"My friends," Roberto interjected, "Is this how you two will talk to each other the entire way?"

"Yes," Sam and Fi said in unison.

"Sam started it," Fi insisted as she folded her arms in front of her, "Talking to me as if I'm the dog whisperer!"

"I just don't want to be surprised by attacking dogs, is all, " claimed Sam.

"Dogs are just like people," exclaimed Fi, "If they rush you, just bop them hard on the nose. Hopefully you'll break their nose_..._ they're back off pretty quick."

"Wow," commented Sam, "You're the only person I know where firing a gun is the more humane thing to do."

They had reached their destination. Roberto made a right hand turn into a darkened path leading to the residence of Hunter's mother.

"I can go no further," announced Roberto, "this is where I will take leave of you two, and none too soon!"

Roberto remained in his seat as the two opened the door to leave.

"Good luck, mi amigos," he added, "and with each other."

.

Sam and Fi covertly snuck up the driveway.

If they had expected The Butcher's mother to live simply and humbly, they were wrong. Obviously she had been well provided for by her murderous son. The place was almost like a villa, with its green lushness, curving driveway and luxurious residence.

The entire house was surrounded with shrubs, so they hid behind a section of greenery outside the gate of the house.

"_Fi!_" whispered Sam, from behind the bushes, "_Are you** sure** there are no dogs here_?"

_"Stop asking me about dogs, Sam!_" she responded in a low tone.

"_Well, _**_people _**_definitely aren't your forte!_" Sam shot back.

"_Sssshhh!_" she shushed him as she looked around.

"_See? Perfect example of not relating to people!_" Sam whispered back.

Fi disconnected the electronic alarm at the gate and they hurriedly entered inside. They now both stood behind a tree, their senses alert on the grounds of the estate.

It was a warm, tropical evening, the air was fresh and the fragrance of a newly trimmed lawn lingered in the night air.

Cautiously and slowly they made their way closer towards the house, past more shrubs and trees and through a garden with a bubbling water fountain. There were a couple of lights on inside the place, but that didn't necessarily mean someone was home. The lights, for example, could be set on a timer.

They continued to keep their voices low.

"_Sam, listen!_" Fi instructed, "_We need to separate in order to cover as much area as possible…this place is huge."_

"_What, are my eyes closed? _" Sam whispered back, "_I can see that!"_

"_I'll check the perimeter, make sure no one is lurking on the outside,"_volunteered Fi,_"I'll be able to cover much more ground in a shorter amount of time than you._"

Sam looked at her in the darkness, "_You're a bossy little trainee spy, aren't you? You do realize there is no 'I' in team, don't you?"_

_"Yes_," Fi responded "_but if you look closely, there's a 'me' in it._"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"_So here's the plan,"_strategized Fi_,__ "After I check the grounds, I'll get in the house and check the rooms downstairs."_

_"So you're basically going to check the outside grounds _**_and _**_the inside floor of the house?"_ asked Sam, "_What does that leave me to check? The mailbox?"_

_"You can check the upstairs for any clues, Sam. I have a feeling that if there is any info on Mrs. Butcher's son, it'll be found in her personal effects up in her bedroom."_

"_Makes sense_," Sam nodded, "…_except…how am I suppose to get up to the second floor?_"

She gestured with her head towards the second floor terrace.

"_That balcony looks negotiable,_" Fi suggested nonchalantly.

Sam looked up and although Fi could not see his expression, she knew he was scowling.

"_I'm supposed to just _**_climb up _**_to the second floor_**_?_** " asked Sam, now pointing down to his bandaged thigh, _"__Hel-loo,..._shot in the leg, remember?"

Now Fi rolled her eyes.

_"I knew it! I _**_knew_**_it!_" whispered an exasperated Fi, _"I knew you'd throw in the 'poor me I'm shot ' excuse! It's not like you're climbing Mt. Everest!"_

_"You _know_ how I hate climbing, Fi!" _countered Sam.

"_All you need to remember,_" advised Fi, "i_s that if you hold on, you can't fall off!_"

_"Again...quick reminder...bullet lodged in leg_?_"_

Fi gave a huge sigh.

_"Okay, Fine! Have it your way, Sam!..._**_I'll _**_check the second floor…and as for you.._._you can just make sure there is enough water in the water fountain!"_

Sam heaved an annoyed sigh, "_Crap! I get it! Second floor here I come!"_

Even in the dark, he could tell Fi was grinning.

_"I'm only kidding about the self-climbing part, Sam." _Fi said as she dug in the backpack and produced climbing cables, "_Here!"_

_"Give me that!" _Sam said, as he grabbed them,_ "See you in half an hour!"_

"_Fine by me!_ " agreed Fi.

She didn't linger to watch Sam do a limping balcony climb, since half an hour wasn't very long to explore an entire estate.

In earnest, Fi began by circling the perimeter of the house, watching for any clues that someone else may still be on the premises. Looking through the bottom floor windows, she saw a great deal of tapestry, damask and Louis XV furniture.

She then noted all of the windows were tightly shut. Of course. She'd have to jimmy one opened. Or perhaps it was best she entered through the back door.

She went by way of tree and then another tree, towards the back of the house, trying to keep her body hidden as much as possible. As she looked around, she felt her eyes were growing more accustomed to the night.

And that's when she heard it.

The snap of a twig behind her.

She turned in time to see a shadow quickly move behind a tree.

Someone was following her.

Sam? She initially thought. If that was him, she was going to kill him for playing hide and seek with her. But then she recalled that the shadow had _dashed_ behind that tree; Sam would have limped.

Definitely not Sam, she concluded.

Fi's lips curved into a smile. Sometimes it could be fun being a spy trainee, she thought.

.

.

While Agent Pearce waited for the call from Rikers prison, she scanned the file of Gideon Hunter, aka _The Butcher_. According to the file, Hunter was sentenced to an incredible 220 years in prison.

Agent Pearce stared at one of the few pictures they had of Hunter. She noted the bland and expressionless face that nature had given him. Nothing really distinguishing at all. He was everyman and yet No-Man. The perfect surface for innumerable disguises.

The call came through from Rikers at last. The Warden had been dispatched to talk to Agent Pearce. After identifying herself, she skipped any friendly formalities.

"Is Gideon Hunter still in your prison system?" Pearce was all business.

At the same time, assistant Thomas Wright walked in her office with coffee for Pearce. She nodded her appreciation. Her face has half buried in her hand as she propped her elbow on her desk, listening carefully to the Warden's response.

Thomas Wright quietly sat down and waited for the completion of the call. The voice on the other end was so emotionally loud that it forced Pearce to move the receiver a few inches from her ear. When she hung up at last, she looked shaken.

"So, what's the news, Dani?" asked Wright, "Did _The Butcher_ escape from Rikers or what?"

"Worse, I'm afraid," Pearce responded as she leaned back and wiped her face with her hands as she worked to recover.

"What could be worse than that?"

"He was pardoned!" Pearce heaved a big sigh.

_"What?_" Wright looked incredulous, "b-but how was that even possible with his record?"

"Believe me, the Warden got an earful from the DA and law enforcement officials, who were livid, incensed, furious and any other angry synonym you can think of over this!"

"So...it was an awful mistake?" Wright asked.

Pearce heaved a sigh, "Evidently, the government launched a very hush-hush investigation, thinking it was one big egregious error. But unfortunately it wasn't that; big money was involved. According to the Warden, this fiasco occurred due to power, influence and bribes distributed here, there and everywhere, starting from the higher ups, all the way down. He had no choice but to follow orders."

Wright looked incredulous, "Sheesh! I bet heads will roll now!"

"Well, there's the rub." Pearce said, still looking shell-shocked, "Most of the paper trail has been cleverly disposed of. It's an election year so the official account will be that The Butcher was pardoned for good behavior. The truth will never get out."

"Oh _man_..." Tom fretted, "Too bad you couldn't call Agent Glenanne in to get rid of The Butcher because I bet she could do it!"

Pearce smiled knowingly; seems as if her assistant was slightly infatuated with Glenanne, "that _is_ the irony of the situation, isn't it?"

"It's just," Tom's eyes were bright, "she always knows what to do in all dire circumstances."

Although Pearce too admired how Fiona held up thus far, the situation required some type of different action.

"True," Pearce agreed,"But we don't even know if Agent Glenanne is aware of Hunter, and she definitely needs to be warned of the danger."

"So what happens now?" Tom asked.

"What happens now," began Pearce slowly, deep in thought, "is...we need to abort the current mission. Call Harry in from the field. Form a new, larger, team to expertly bring down Gideon Hunter_._"

Her assistant nodded, "And Agent Glenanne?"

Pearce heaved a deep breath out, "She needs to be relieved of the mission...we'll tell her it's because...she hasn't been reporting in and that's against agency policy."

"She won't like that," Tom warned.

"Agent Glenanne should be thankful she hasn't been captured," Pearce declared, "although I can't say the same for Westen. And I don't know how she'll react when she finds out that Michael is missing."

"Not a good situation, Dani."

"No, it isn't," admitted Pearce, truthfully, "But I can't worry about them now. We have to assume they can hold their own until we can locate them."

Even Pearce cringed at what she just said. She then added, "Right now, my time needs to be spent on securing an experienced team. "

"What shall _I_ do?" asked Tom attentively.

"Make the call to Harry," Pearce announced, "He's been instructed to keep his line open 24/7."

"Right away," Tom said as he turned to leave, shutting the door behind him.

Pearce was not looking forward to the next 24 hours. She hated pulling the plug on Glenanne's first mission. Especially since Fiona has more than proven herself when things did not go right.

Perhaps Pearce could convince Glenanne to work in coordination with her other field officers in retrieving Westen from wherever hell place he was. For his own sake, he _better_ be in trouble if Glenanne is to rescue him.

Her mind now switched to the idea that _The Butcher_ was operating in Tampa. The warden had stated that _this fiasco occurred due to power, influence and bribes distributed here, there and everywhere__._ If that was true, the rogue CIA agents were growing in strength. They needed to be stopped. And soon.

Her door opened again as Tom Wright, her assistant, stuck his head in.

Pearce turned towards the direction of her assistant.

"You've got Harry on the line for me?" Pearce asked.

Trepidation gripped her when she saw Tom's grim expression.

"More bad news," said Tom, solemnly, "Harry's not picking up."

.

.

Michael is slowly coming to.

The same growling voice sounds demanding.

_"Where are they?"_

(So that's what _"Wer-air-et"_meant, Michael internalized.)

He still feels in a fog as he forced his voice box to work.

It comes out a dry whisper.

_"W-who?"_

"The small woman. The Hawaiian shirt man."

Fi? Sam? Michael thinks.

Michael is silent.

His head snaps sideways as he feels a hard, stinging slap.

.

Later, Michael is walking. He is blindfolded and his hands are tied behind his back. He just remembers lots of small dots of light as he continued down this hallway. There are hands on either side of his shoulder, making sure he is moving forward. They enter a room and suddenly stop.

The hands then roughly pull him down.

At first he's sitting, then he's lying down. As Michael moves his head left and right, a belt is tightened across his chest. It feels as though he was lassoed onto a hard surface.

Suddenly the dots of light are gone.

The table twirls. Michael's equilibrium is thrown. It suddenly stops but he is slightly dizzy.. Could he now be...upside down?

"We keep him," a voice says.

"Alive?" another voice asks.

"He'll be our prisoner," the first voice verifies, "so we can do what we want."

"But remember, keep him alive," reminds the other.

A giant hand covers Michael's mouth and it affects his nose.

_I can't breathe!_ Michael panics.

He tries to move but someone is holding his head so that he can't even turn. The hand presses down harder on his face.

Michael is in distress. His body jerks, but all he's doing is wasting his energy. Yet, his body is only reacting because he knows he's being smothered.

No air.

Opening his mouth, Michael tries to take in as much air as he can. Must inhale in order to live.

And just when he feels as though it could not get worse. It does.

Water is thrown right a his face as he jerks left, then right.

Noooo! His arms and legs try to flail, but they are tied down. He must remain calm, he must think. His spy instincts have taught him that he must find a way to t breathe, to stay alive.

But it is hard to when water is filling up his throat and into his nose.

He chokes and his lungs are burning, about to burst. Michael tries to move, but he can't.

Some more water is tossed at him and the entire cycle begins again.

Air, he needs air.

He must survive!

_Fiiiii._

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_Please review_

_Thanks again for all the kind and wonderful comments!_


	11. Chapter 11

The Intruder

Chapter 11

Sam and Fi had gone to the grand house of The Butcher's mother to try to ascertain any information regarding the whereabouts of her son.

Fi felt Gideon Hunter, aka_ The Butcher_, had possession of the book with the microfilm in it, since he had been in the bookstore posing as Benjamin McGrath. Getting her hands on that book was all Fi could think about.

For _failure_ was a word _not_ in Fi's vernacular.

While she sent Sam up ahead to see if he could reach the second floor bedroom, Fi had stayed behind to make sure the grounds were secured.

And that's when she heard a snap of twigs behind her as she hid in the bushes.

She smiled to herself at the thought that there would be some action at last. Outside of the car chase, this entire mission was a snoozefest.

Her luck has changed at last.

Fi had so many options to choose from as to what action to take, and they all ended with the guy on the ground.

At some distance ahead she could dimly make out a dark mass of artistically prune hedges. Great, she thought, it might be best to have that person reveal him/herself out in the open.

Fi covertly left the safe confines of the bushes and crossed the long sweep of greenery before reaching the long column of hedges. Using peripheral vision, she turned slightly, enough to see her pursuer emerge from behind the tree and start towards her.

There were no doubts that it was a male pursuing her. The more muscled- bound, the better!

There was a tall decorative outdoor lamp and Fi stood beside it, knowing she would be an easy target. She pretended to look ahead but she was actually listening behind.

It was a waiting game now, as she braced herself, waiting for him to be close enough for striking distance. Her heart began beating fast as adrenaline flowed throughout her body.

The wait seemed to take forever and her ears were attuned to the silence surrounding her. The lamp was an excellent choice to stand near, for it now cast a light on the ground. When Fi stared down at the ground, she could make out a dark shadow directly behind her.

It was like the boogeyman was coming for her and Fi could not be more pleased.

When the shadow loomed large enough, Fi took charge.

She turned around unexpectedly, surprising the man. Before he had time to recover, she viciously delivered a karate chop to the side of his neck. One strike was enough. She knew the exact location to hit on the neck to do the most damage. Without a sound the would-be assailant crumpled to the ground.

_That's it?_

She stared at her knifed hand, thinking it was stronger and more accurate than she had anticipated. Fi looked down at the fallen form, disappointed that it had ended so quickly.

Fi then straightened up, shrugged and thought, _that's what he gets for getting in the way of my mission, and_ _it's best that he learned that behind every silver lining is a dark cloud._

A moment later, Sam appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

"Fi, I wasn't able to-...er, just whoa there, whoa..." he stared down at Fi's handwork, "What the devil, Fi?".

"Looks like an admirer, Sam," was all Fi said.

"Crap, Fi, Can't I leave you alone for 10 minutes without you striking someone down?"

"You make me sound like lightening, Sam. Anyway, _he_ was the one following _me_," Fi said casually, as if that explained everything, "and you know how I _hate_ secret admirers. I prefer they send flowers or a nice Hallmark card."

Sam knelt down to observe Fi's latest victim, "Well, you sure nailed him! He's out cold."

"Any chance that it's _the Butcher_?" Fi asked.

Sam beamed the flashlight at the man's face.

"Nah, not him," Sam said, sounding disappointed.

Fi maneuvered herself to get a better look at him, too, "Who could he be? I don't know why, but I think I've seen him before..."

"I'm not surprised by that comment," Sam said, as he continued viewing the body,"You've certainly seen your fill of unconscious people!"

"Let's find out who he is," Fi said, "Sam, you should go through his pockets..."

Sam turned with an incredulous look at Fi.

"_What_ …and have him wake up with my hands all over him? Not a chance, sister! _You knocked him down, you frisk him!"_

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Sam!" Fi said, as she bent down. She fumbled around in his pockets and pulled out his wallet.

Sam flashed his tiny flashlight on the ID.

"It says his name is Harry Grant," Sam read.

"Hmmm…Harry Grant…sound familiar to you?" Fi asked.

"No," replied Sam, "you?"

"No," said Fi, "but if this one guy was walking the grounds this late at night, chances are there'll be more thugs to follow."

"I figured that, too," said Sam, as he slowly got up on his feet, "And the news isn't any better at the house. I heard some people noise coming from the interior, so I came back to tell you that maybe this isn't the night we do the scavenger hunt."

"Damn!" Fi mumbled under her breath.

She hated to think it was a wasted night. She then glanced down at Harry. Well, maybe not completely wasted, she thought with a smirk.

"Wait..." Fi was fumbling in Harry's wallet, "there's something else here...look, Sam!"

Sam pointed his portable flashlight. It showed a CIA badge and identification.

"He's...one...of...us..." Fi said.

"You mean, one of you, Fi," Sam reminded her, "maybe we can call the name into Pearce and see if he's one of the good guys."

"That's the thing, Sam," explained Fi, "Even _they_ don't even know who's good or bad. I should have hit him harder, just to be on the safe side."

"You know, Fi," remarked Sam, "Perhaps you should talk to Pearce anyway. Let her know what's going on. Big agencies like the CIA want to hear from people out in the field. When I worked for the SEALS, we constantly had to update our positions with our superiors."

"Please, Sam, not _another_ SEALs story."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Sam said, "They are probably wondering where you are. And you haven't talked to Michael yet, either."

Fi's heart slightly dropped at the mention of Michael. But no way was she letting Michael know that she had not completed her first mission. She did _not_ want to see a look of empathy from him, she wanted a look of admiration. Pearce too.

"Now's not the time," said Fi, decisively, "I don't plan to communicate with Pearce or Michael until I find out what has happened to that book with the microfilm...and...whether or not I knocked out a good guy or bad one."

Sam took one last look at the body.

"At least this Harry Grant character is still breathing…come on, Fi, we better scram."

Just in time, they heard in the distance the sound of a familiar car engine. Roberto had driven the car silently up the driveway.

"Roberto's back," Sam announced.

"I'm right behind you, Sam."

Sam limped into the back seat while Fi jumped into the passenger side as Roberto made a small u-turn and drove them quickly away, towards the lights of the city.

"¿Teníamos éxito? Were we successful, Amigos?" Roberto asked, once they were safely back on the road.

"If you mean in terms of coldcocking a guy, I would say we were very successful," said Sam "but otherwise, we didn't learn anything new."

"Sam is such a pessimist," stated Fi.

Sam looked stunned, for that would be the last word used to describe him.

"Give me an example of how I am a pessimist" Sam challenged.

Fi didn't even blink, "Ever since you've joined me on my mission, you've not been happy with how I am handling this mission. '_Fi, don't drive like a lunatic on busy streets_' '_Fi don't hit that car head on'_ '_Fi, don't shoot the thug_ _dead!'_ You should be thankful that I got you out safely each and every time with just a minor bullet scratch on your leg!"

"Minor bullet scratch?" repeated Sam, "How is that even a term? Besides that, Fi, everything you have said is _so_ wrong on _so_ many levels..."

From the front seat Fi turned around to the back so she could look at Sam directly.

"Sam, don't you get it?" she attempted to make a point, "Don't you understand what is going on? It's not a matter of me being right or wrong in a decision, _it's a matter of me being strong enough to make some kind of a decision!_"

Sam opened his mouth to refute what she said, but then her words sunk in.

Instead Sam let out a long breath, "You know, Fi," he acquiesced, "you're absolutely right..."

Fi turned back to face the front, looking quite pleased.

"I don't know about you two amigos," Roberto interjected, "but that exchange you have right now? It has left me exhausted and stunned at the same time."

"Welcome to my world, pal," Sam said.

Roberto smiled as he continued driving, "So getting back to what I say before, _what happened back there_?"

Fi shrugged, "While we were on the grounds doing recon on the place, someone got in the way of me and the house. I had no choice but to knock him out."

"Was he a guard or something?" asked Roberto.

"All we know is the ID we found on him," explained Sam, "He's a CIA agent, but we don't know which side he batting for. His name is Harry Grant…that name sound familiar to you, Roberto?"

"No, but I have been in isolation at the safehouse for so long, I am not familiar with all agents out in the field," explained Roberto, "however, when we get back, I will look up el hombre's name. Maybe the system will tell us more."

When they arrived at the compound, Peppino was there to open the gate for them. Roberto drove to the rear of the warehouse while Peppino closed the gates and locked them again. Once out of the car, Roberto, Fi and Sam made their way to their respective rooms.

.

.

Night had fallen and it was well past midnight.

Fi was too restless to sleep. With a pillow propped behind her, she got out her "Emma" book and was soon lost in the world of the misconstrued romance between Emma and George Knightley in Regency England.

She kept hoping the next chapter would have one or both of them in a duel.

Someone was knocking on her door.

"Yes, come in," Fi said.

Roberto opened the door tentatively, "Senorita?"

Fi sat up, "Yes, what is it, Roberto?"

"Sorry to interrupt," Roberto apologized, "it's just...I just looked up that name you said…Harry Grant…he is definitely one of us.."

"Good," responded Fi, "And?"

"And…" continued Roberto, "according to my records, Grant has clean record as a CIA operative…"

Fi scowled, "He's one of the good guys? That's strange because earlier tonight, it occurred to me where I had seen him before -he had been one of the men tailing me during the car chase. So is there a chance he is one of the CIA bad guys?"

"Hard to say, Senorita," said Roberto, "but just be careful if you ever encounter him again!"

"Oh, I think it is _he_ who should watch out for _me_, " responded Fi.

.

.

Michael's eyes are still covered.

The first thing he feels is searing pain. He arches his back due to the pain.

The word torture enters his mind.

He will survive this.

The two people in the room are interrogating him.

Question after question.

Michael must be evasive.

After some time, Michael pleads, "Please, no... more... ques-tions."

"But we have more."

"No more," Michael says.

He feels strong electrical charge searing through his body.

His body is burning away from the inside out.

He hears a rough-sounding voice saying, "I don't think he can take much more of this."

"Good," replies the other voice.

.

.

Sometime later, a bright light shines through the cloth covering his eyes and Michael is startled awake.

He tries to blink but realizes he is still blindfolded. He feels his heart racing although the rest of his body feels as though it has stopped functioning.

"Michael?" the gruff voice one seems to know his name.

Michael angles his head towards the sound.

The voice stoops down until he is to Michael's ear.

The voice is calm, "I still need the names."

Michael shakes his head no.

He has been conditioned to expect the pain now.

And it comes.

Something is electrifying his insides.

It's as if his body is floating away from him.

He loses consciousness.

.

.

Sometime later he is aware of only one person being in the room with him.

His eyes are still covered as the one voice speaks to him.

It is the gruff sounding one again.

"Michael," he says.

Michael shudders at the sound of the voice.

"You have given me the wrong names," he accuses Michael, "I have asked nicely for the names of the small woman and the Hawaiian shirt man. You said earlier their names were Carla Helfer and Tyler Brennan. We've checked. They are both dead."

Fi and Sam dead, or Carla and Brennan?

His mind is clearing, but his body feels like mush.

Best to remain quiet.

"You'll forget most of this when you are awake again," the voice says when the buzzing stopped, "That's perhaps for the best."

"I don't... under-stand..." Michael struggles to speak.

The voice speaks again, "No one will believe what you tell them, and even if they do, they will not be able to find us. You don't know where we are or what we look like."

Then he hears a door opens and some footsteps.

Someone else has entered the room.

"Did he tell us anything new?" the new voice asks.

"No," says the gruff voice, "he is still out cold."

_What?_ Michael's mind comes to attention.

_The rough-sounding voice is lying._

Why?

But Michael keeps still. He is supposed to be out cold.

"When he wakes up," said the other new voice, "tell him if he doesn't give us the names and their location, he is dead."

Then Michael hears the same footsteps retreating and the door shut.

He is alone with the rough sounding voice again, the one who just lied.

Michael listens carefully now as the gruff voice speaks, "It's best, Michael, that you forget that you were ever with us. You'll live longer."

Michael's right arm is grabbed and he feels something like a needle go into his arm.

He doesn't even try to fight it as he begins to be unresponsive. Michael's eyes rolls back and he slips back into the abysmal darkness.

Blackness.

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_Please review_


	12. Chapter 12

Whom can you trust?

Chapter 12

Sam's leg was in a bad way.

As Roberto, Sam and Fi sat around the small kitchen table, they knew something had to be done. With his pants leg ripped opened, Fi had given Sam's leg a quick lookover. It stood to reason that if they did not do something quick, his leg would be totally infected.

And Fi decided for them all.

"...it looks as if we need to cut that bullet from your leg," announced Fi.

Sam looked none too happy, "And by _we,_ you mean..."

"Us," stated Fi evenly, "I will be doing the actual removal. You will supply the screaming."

Sam's eyes got very large, "Tell me you're kidding, Fi."

"I'm kidding, Sam," said Fi, as Sam relaxed, "_Now,_ what I need is a knife, a handkerchief, a towel and boiling water."

Sam's eyes got larger and rounder.

"I hope you need those things for the chicken stew tonight," Sam declared wistfully as Roberto shot Fi a look of concern.

"Have you done this type of thing before, Senorita?" Roberto asked, looking distraught for his friend.

"I've removed splinters and broken glass from skin plenty of times," explained Fi, "and then, there was that one time I removed shards that had been embedded on the left side of my body from a leftover grenade."

Roberto stared at Fi.

"I don't think I want to know the details of any of that," he said.

Fi looked squarely back at him, "No, you don't want to know."

While she waited for the water to boil on the stove, Fi took hold of the knife. Hovering the knife over the burner of the stove to sterilize it, she turned it over and over again, admiring the sharpness of its blade. Roberto prepared Sam by giving him something strong to drink and helping him to get comfortable.

Sam grabbed the sleeve of Roberto's shirt and whispered insistently, _"Don't let her do it, buddy! I'm not too young to die, but I still don't want to!"_

Roberto gave Sam a comforting look, "She is a friend, an amiga! She has your best interest at heart, no?"

_"She may be a friend_," Sam whispered in desperation, "_but she's the kind of friend that borrows your book and then puts her wet glass on it!"_

Roberto strongly clutched Sam's hand, "Amigo...just remember this: a friend may give you comfort, but a real friend will take out a bullet out of your leg."

Sam stared at his lifelong friend, "Who died and made you El Confucius?"

Expressionless, Fi held the knife up as she approached Sam.

_A wannabe spy treating an injured comrade knows that she should never bleed for the patient, let the patient do the bleeding, the spy's job is just to get the work done._

Sam, in the meantime, had been laid out on the table in a version of "a pig ready to be slaughtered" according to him. He tried hard not to react, but his terrorized eyes said it all.

"I want my mommy!" Sam exclaimed suddenly.

"Just remember one thing, Sam," Fi said as she lowered the knife his way, "This will hurt _you_ more than _me_."

"_W-what_?" Sam looked confused, "Isn't it suppose to be the other way around?"

"Not in this case, Sam."

"No, _Fiii_..."

... as he opened his mouth, she stuffed a hankerchief in, "Pretend this is my hand and bite down on this..."

Ignoring Sam's muffled protest, Fi began.

Fi worked quickly, knowing that speed was kinder than gentleness.

After rubbing some alcohol on his leg, she cut in and probbed the rotting flesh for the bullet. The knife met a hard resistance, and she gave a sigh of relief that it was not embedded in a muscle. With one swift, cruel turning of the knife, she lifted the pellet to the surface with the knife and heard it drop and bounce on the kitchen floor.

Then she skillfully poured hot water over the infected skin, with Sam yelling out in pain, opening his mouth so large that the rag flew out.

"I HATE YOOOOUUUUU!" Sam was screaming as perspiration burst forth throughout his body.

"I wondered when we might hear from you," Fi stated calmly, ignoring his words.

She then turned to Roberto, "Do you have any honey? I need to rub some on Sam's leg."

"_Don't listen to her, buddy_," pleaded Sam, as he held out his arm, _"she'll rub it all over my leg and then set me outside and let the bees do a number on me!"_

"For heaven's sake, Sam, " Fi explained, "the honey is a mild antiseptic. It'll promote new tissue growth. It'll also make your skin look younger, too," she then gave Sam a second look, "Well, one out of two is not too bad."

By then Roberto had gone to the cupboard and handed the jar to Fi. She rubbed some on his leg.

"Oww! Gah! By the way you were cutting me up, I thought you were getting out a watermelon instead of a bullet!" declared Sam as his entire leg glistened with the layer of honey.

"Really?" responded Fi, "because I would think patient Wimpy Axe should be more grateful."

Fi then quickly and expertly wrapped him in fresh bandages.

Sam had quieted down at last. He even managed a weak smile, "Er, thanks, Fi...I guess...this isn't indigestion I am feeling... it's gratitude."

Fi smiled directly at him.

"My pleasure, Sam, " she said, as she thumped him gently on his leg, causing him to yelp, "and I sincerely mean that. "

She took a towel and then was wiping her hands while Roberto began cleaning up the surrounding area. At one point Roberto stopped and watched Fi in awe.

"This so remarkable what you just did," Roberto said to Fi in admiration, "like you had not a care in the world!"

Fi nodded, "I'm just glad I didn't chip a nail."

.

.

(Much later)

The grinding sound of gears of an old van woke Fi in the middle of the night. She sat up in her bed, fully awake. _It must be two o'clock in the morning,_ she thought. Pushing back her covers, she went to the window and peered out.

The moon had emerged from the clouds and cast a silvery light.

Down below she saw Roberto on the compound grounds. _Does he ever sleep?_ She wondered crossly, and then as an afterthought, where was Peppino?

Against the moonlight, Fi could clearly see Roberto exchanging last words with the driver of an unrecognizable van. Instead of Peppino opening the gate, it was Roberto who went over to swing the gate open. The white van u-turned and rattled out of the warehouse compounds.

Climbing back into the comfort of her bed, she drowsily thought, _I'll need to ask Roberto about the van later this morning_ and _then I'll ask Sam if he heard the van too._ But not now, she was tired, as she headed back to the bed. She slipped the covers back on and was soon fast asleep.

.

.

It was eight a.m. when she was fully awake. She again wondered about the van, as she got ready to go to the kitchen area.

When she entered the kitchen, she found a lively Roberto established on the cheap plastic table, drinking coffee with Peppino. They both looked as if they had a good night's sleep.

_Maybe I dreamt last night_, Fi thought, _otherwise, how else could Roberto look so refreshed?_

Roberto turned when he noted Fi's presence, "Ah, Senorita, truly you are a vision of loveliness!" He reached over and poured a cup of coffee for Fi, "Come! Come have some morning coffee while Peppino brings your breakfast to you!"

Peppino had gotten up and soon returned with a bowl of oatmeal, and some fruits. Fi sat across from Roberto as Peppino then went to get some silverware.

"So tell me, Senorita Fi," stated Roberto, "I hope you slept well?"

At first Fi was going to play cautious with what she had witnessed last night, but then she figured, why?

"Actually," Fi got to the point, "I was awakened last night by the sound of van, and I saw you, Roberto," she then softened it up a bit by adding, "I hope there was no emergency?"

Roberto looked stunned.

"Why, what do you mean, Senorita?" Roberto was all wide-eyed innocence, "Like you, I went straight to bed and I was fast asleep the minute my head hit the pillow! Peppi, did you hear a van?"

"I never hear nothing," said Peppino in a monotone voice, "Every night I sleep like a baby."

Taken aback by their responses, Fi peered closely at Roberto—at his older brown face, now sun-weathered and clean-shaven. He had soft intelligent eyes set off by a head of thick salt and pepper hair.

Meeting her scrutinized gaze , he smiled in a friendly manner, "Ahhh a van you say? If only it were so, Senorita! It would have been truly be a blessing for us...we could use it for so many purposes here!"

Fi scowled as Peppino got up to get the coffeepot.

"More coffee, Senorita Fiona?" Peppino asked, automatically pouring Fi without waiting if she wanted some. It was almost as if he needed to be doing something in order to avoid being nervous.

Fi smiled back, but her thoughts were less forgiving. _They're lying_, she thought, and unfortunately for them, _they are lying to the wrong person,_for now her interest was piqued.

Sam entered just then, "Hey, how about setting another place for me, Peppi?" he asked as he hobbled to the table, "I'm starved!"

"Ah, Sammy, mi amigo!" smiled Roberto, "How are you feeling this lovely morning?"

"Great, for someone who had been shot in the leg and then crudely cut opened, " Sam stated as he sat at the table as breakfast was also brought to him, "Actually, earlier this morning, Peppi had brought me some salve to put on my leg. Smelled like a dead carcass, but it worked miracles! The pain has definitely ebbed."

"Oh, that explains the smell," deadpanned Fi, "I thought that was your cologne again."

Roberto laughed heartily, "I think a bigger miracle is how you two have been able to work alongside one another all this time!"

"Michael is our miracle," explained Sam, "if it weren't for him, we'd kill each other!"

"Ah, yes, Michael Westen!" Roberto nodded, "You have introduced us before, eh? Fine, fine agent! Very dedicated! I was stunned to hear about his burn notice! A mistake, I have no doubt!"

Fi didn't want to think about Michael now. She was starting to feel guilty that she had not made contact with him, but what was she suppose to say? _Hello, Michael, I just screwed up my first CIA mission, and how are you?_

It made her more determined to find that book.

"Sam," announced Fi, "we have to go back to _The Butcher's_ Estate today!"

"Ah, geez, Fi!" Sam stated, "I _so_ wanted to stay here today to read my magazine!…It has the latest escapades of the Kardashians!"

"Who?" Fi asked.

Roberto's laugh seemed too forced, "Oh, senoritia! You always make me smile!"

"Yeah, I know that feeling" said Sam, taking a bite of his breakfast, "she makes me smile so wide I can now eat a banana sideways!"

.

.

At half past one Sam and Fi were ready to leave for the estate when Peppino stopped in the doorway.

"Excuse me, Senor, Senorita," Peppino declared, "…I see something I must tell you…"

Fi was alarmed, "What is it, Peppino?" she asked.

"Outside," Peppino said, "Our security cameras locate black car parked on street…suspicious because no move...just sits there. All morning."

"Did you say the vehicle was _black_?" asked Fi.

"Si," stated Peppino, "with dark windows. No see inside."

Sam and Fi exchanged looks.

"You think it's the same car that trailed us two nights earlier?" Sam asked Fi.

She smiled, "One can only hope!"

"You do realize, Fi," noted Sam, "that this isn't a game...these are bad people trying to get us?"

"And I am a spy," said Fi, "trying to get closer to them so that I can complete my mission!"

"That's trainee spy," reminded Sam.

"Trainee spy, virtuoso," stated a confident Fi, "I'm thinking of making business cards with that title!"

"Business cards?" countered Sam, "CIA spies do NOT have printed busi…oh, never mind."

"Come on," Fi said, "Let's go find out if the it's Butcher-mobile!"

Sam pointed to his leg, "But my leg, it's just been..." but Fi had already walked away from him.

"Hurry up, Sam!"

"Ah crap! I'll never get any empathy from you!" he looked resignedly at Fi as he limped after her, "I'm comin'!"

.

.

Peppino was at the gate and opened it for them as Fi drove her rented Audi outside the compounds.

She thought to tell Sam about what she had witnessed earlier that morning regarding a suspicious Roberto, but decided against it for now. There were other things they needed to deal with.

Like making sure a ruthless assassin follows them.

Fi took a turn to go onto the main highway. The black car was still there. After Fi passed it, she noted in her rearview mirror how it started up and swung in behind them, trailing them at a discreet distance.

"Good news, Sam," said Fi, "it's the same vehicle after all."

"Good news? Really, Fi? _Really_?" asked Sam, "A killer is after us and you're happy about it?"

"Not just _any_ killer," corrected Fi, _"_but_ The Butcher_...and he is someone who will help bring me one step closer to being the top CIA agent!"

Sam took a quick glance back before facing forward again, "Well, I don't know if that's him or not, but what's the strategy here…you gonna try and lose him?"

"Actually," considered Fi, "I don't see why we should lose him."

"Uh-oh," said Sam, "Sounds like you've got a plan, and I have a feeling it's a crazy, senseless one, I'm sure!"

"Now you're just trying to lift my spirits even more!" Fi smiled.

"Fi," warned Sam, as he grabbed on to his seat, "Please don't tell me that you plan another high speed chase. I don't think my body can take another one. And I heard there's only one allowed per mission."

"For once, you're making sense Sam," agreed Fi, "but, no, I don't want to go through another high speed chase. I wouldn't want the reputation as being a top-notch but repetitive spy."

"_Soooo,_ " asked Sam, not quite sure if he wanted to hear the answer," What do you plan to do?"

The loud engine noise almost drowned out Fi's answer, but Sam was clearly able to make out what she said. Unfortunately.

"The answer is quite simple," Fi theorized, ""I think we need to take the advantage. We will stop where there are lots of people. We'll mingle in a crowd. With all that confusion and the two of us, he'll be outnumbered."

Sam almost choked.

"We are going to take the chance of mingling in a crowd, hoping he doesn't see us before we see him? The guy is a top assassin...he'll KNOW how to hide himself in a crowd."

"Oh, Sam, Sam…will you stop being so apprehensive?" Fi responded, "You forget that I know my way around a crowd, too! He'll think I'm trying to hide from him, not realizing that I will be the one hunting him!"

"Uh, oh-_kay_….Is there any way I can stay in the car while you do that?" Sam peered over at Fi and noticed the steely look in her eyes.

Fi shrugged, "You can, but he knows our car, so chances are he could just walk right up and shoot you where you sit. And no way am I going to rub honey all over your bloodied chest. We'd need a barrel of the stuff."

"Crapola!" Sam said, knowing he didn't have any choice, "Okay! I'll go out too! I guess I can use the exercise!"

"That's true," Fi agreed, "because lately the only exercise you have been getting is pushing your luck!"

Sam stared at Fi, "Just don't jerk the vehicle too hard when you pull the car over, alright?"

.

.

_Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews. I truly, truly appreciate them!_

_Please review._


	13. Chapter 13

A Meet up

Chapter 13

Fi and Sam were definitely being tailed by the same black car that had been following them two nights earlier.

But this time they were determined to learn the identity of the driver. For now, they theorize that it could possibly be _The Butcher_, Gideon Hunter.

The plan was to stop the car and confront the killer. As they traveled down Florida Avenue in Fi's rented car, she looked around for somewhere to stop and finally a smile curved on her lips.

"There!" she nudged with her head, "we'll park over there."

Sam looked towards the direction she had been looking, "You're kidding, right? Tell me you had a slight moment of insanity…in other words, you were just being you for a second."

The Sacred Heart Catholic Church was one of the oldest churches in the city of Tampa, its architectural style being Romanesque Revival. The granite and marble structure included a 135-foot dome, solid oak doors and 70 stained glass windows. The popular city landmark was known not only for its stylish design, but also for its rich history.

"That busy church plaza will be _perfect,_" decided Fi, "There will be plenty of tourists around."

"Which is the exact reason why we SHOULDN'T stop there," Sam said.

"Why not?" Fi pointed out, "I like the idea of God being my co-pilot."

"It'll be better for everyone if you two swap seats!" suggested Sam.

"Good," Fi agreed, "Then I could ride shotgun."

Sam gave a reluctant sigh, "Okay..._fine._..you win...the church it is...that way, we could also pray for our lives at the same time."

As they looked for a place to park, it was obvious this place was a populated area. A tour bus had just discharged a load of tourists. The narrow street down which they drove was lined with small shops selling ceramics, mosaics and souvenirs.

In the center of the Church square stood an ornate, working fountain.

"Let me off here, Fi," suggested Sam pointing at the fountain, "I could join that group of tourists and you can join up with me once you park."

She agreed and stopped the car as Sam stepped off. Later, Fi, too, was in the midst of the bustling plaza and the two of them tried not to look conspicuous as they milled around the plaza.

It was a lively scene at the square; vendors hawking their wares of handbags, books and keychains; a costumed photographer inviting potential clients to take pictures; a tour guide heralding his group to enter the church doorway.

"Do you see him at all?" said Sam, trying to peer through all the people, the noise becoming deafening as the number of bodies rose.

"No...not yet," said Fi, "but he should be easy to find…I saw him step out of the car before he disappeared in the crowd...he is wearing a black t-shirt with blue jeans."

"Oh yeah," said Sam sarcastically, "t-shirt with jeans? Should be easy to spot since he's wearing such unique clothing! All we need is for him to be on fire and I might be able to recognize him!"

"Just...watch my back, Sam!" suggested an exasperated Fi, "and if you see anyone with dark hair, beady black eyes and is being beaten into submission by me, that's him!"

"Yeah, yeah, I got your back.."

Soon the two of them mingled in the crowd. Sam decided to stay with the tour group going up the stairs to the church while Fi chose to hang out with the wave of people wanting to buy souvenirs at the vendor booths on the plaza.

The top stairs of the church afforded Sam an entire view of the square. As he waited, he could hear the tour guide expounding the history of the church:

"The initial wooden-frame building called St. Louis Church was erected on the site where Sacred Heart stands today," the guide was saying in that same monotone, memorized manner, "In 1888 a convent was added for the nuns who became the handmaids of the Lord….Now if you step inside the church, you may even catch sight of some practicing nuns."

"Excuse me, sir."

A policeman was looking at Sam as Sam stood at the topmost stair landing. Sam turned and gave the law officer his friendliest smile.

"Good afternoon, Officer!" Sam said, "No trouble here, as you can see."

"Sorry, sir," stated the policeman, "You'll have to move along. We keep this area available for tour guides and their groups."

Sam could not leave this area; it was the ideal spot to get a view of the swelling crowd.

"Chuck Finley, tour guide extraordinaire," he stuck out his hand at the policeman, who looked at him with uncertainty.

"Tour guide, eh?" questioned the officer, "and just where is your tour group, then, Mr. Finley?"

Sam did not skip a beat.

"Why, getting a ten minute break to mill around a bit with all the vendors, of course," stated Sam, in all sincerity.

The policeman's expression told it all; he didn't believe Sam for one second.

"Perhaps it's time for you to get your group back together," suggested the officer, as he folded his arms, "I'll wait right here for you to do that."

"Uh, yeah, sure, my tour group," acquiesced Sam, "One tour group...coming right up!

Sam looked tentatively out at the crowd. Forming his two hands into the shape of a human megaphone he announced, _"Attention out there... please meet at the top of these stairs to resume the **free** tour."_

The crowds of people continued wandering about, ignoring Sam's announcement. Sam gave the policeman a half hearted smile.

He better find a tour group of his own...and quick.

Cupping his hands once more, Sam announced, "_Hey, people!... You want to hear about 'Sex and the Church' or not?"_

In no time, scores of males of various ages scrambled up the stairs and gathered around Sam. As they waited for 'the tour' to resume, Sam gave a knowing nod to the policeman, who now proceeded on his way.

"This here is the famous St. Louis Church," began Sam's tour narrative, "founded by a group of hookers in 1888. When Jesuits priests asked these woman which ones were virgins, one of these ladies of the night shouted, "_None!_," thus begeting the order of _nuns_..."

Some of the people looked puzzled, but everyone stayed, wanting Sam to continue.

"Uh..." Sam was already stumped for anything that had to do with the sisters, so he said the only other thing he knew about nuns, "Then in 1905, a lawyer, rabbi, and a nun go into a bar..."

As he told the story, his eyes were quickly surveying the entire square. He had lost sight of Fi. _Crap! _By the time he completed his story, his 'tour group' had doubled in size.

A random male in Sam's group raised his hand.

"Excuse, me, Mr. Tour Guide," he asked, "Did these 'nones' stay at this one church or practiced at other churches as well?"

"What?" Sam was distracted, looking over their heads. Where was Fi?

The same random guy shouted his question again.

"Uh," said Sam absentmindedly, "...They, were a restless bunch, these 'nones' ...they tended to roam...so eventually they became known as 'Roman Catholics'."

His tour group had begun accepting his facts and nodded agreeably.

Suddenly Sam spotted Fi. And she was in trouble.

Fi was being pushed back and forth among the crowd. The last thing he saw was that Fi had accidentally stepped on the foot of a woman who instantly recoiled, thereby bumping into the man in back of her.

It produced a domino effect, with Fi getting absorbed more into the crowd. Sam had to get down and help Fi. He needed to get rid of his tour group first.

"Now, everyone," said Sam, extending his arm to the doors of the church and quickly repeating what the original tour guide had said, "Now if you step inside the church, you may even catch sight of some practicing nuns."

Groups of men enthusiastically rushed inside the church while Sam limped down the stairs. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he worriedly looked to his right and couldn't see Fi above the hordes of people.

Meanwhile, Fi had turned and was pushing the crowd back on her own. At last, she was able to gain her footing when the shoving had subsided.

As she turned back around, she found herself staring directly into the dead black eyes of Gideon Hunter.

The world suddenly seemed to have stopped spinning as she also read recognition in _his_ eyes.

Fi started to force her way through the crowd towards him, her eyes never leaving his face. When she was almost upon him, he smiled a malicious smile before quickly taking four steps backwards.

He blended quickly into the mass of people.

No,_ noooo_! Fi pushed the people aside harder, as her anger became inflamed at missing her opportunity. All around her were just hordes of people. But he _must_ be somewhere nearby! She looked left and then right.

She felt a slight tap on her back, and Fi delivered a strong elbow to the assailant.

"Oomph! Fi!" said Sam, as he halfway jackknifed, "it's me! Relax!"

"I saw him, Sam!…"Fi continued pushing aside the bodies, leaving Sam behind again.

_"Where is he, dammit?" _ Fi huffed under her breath as she looked around the square. A new tour group had poured into the square, and the noise became even more heightened with the new arrivals.

Fi headed towards the new group when suddenly, from her peripheral vision, she saw something metallic sticking out. She barely had time to move aside as she heard a quick _whoosh_ sound, past her ear.

No one noticed, due to all the noise and busyness of the crowd, but she'd recognized the sound of a fired silencer anywhere. A short distance away, splinters of concrete flew up.

_He dared to fire at me!_ Fi thought, furiously, _Where is this **coward**?_

Sam was suddenly beside her again, "Did you see him again?"

"No!" responded Fi, annoyingly "but I felt his calling card,"

Sam scowled in bafflement, "Huh?".

"_He shot at me, Sam!_"

"Do we need to rub some honey?" asked Sam, as he checked his pockets.

"No!" said a frustrated Fi, "but being in prison must have weakened his skills. He missed me, but barely."

"Hmmph!" Sam said, "That does not sound like him."

Fi looked around, "…Wait until I get my hands on him...he won't ever be able to shoot again because he will be missing his trigger finger!"

"Fi, relax... you've got what you came for," Sam tried to cheer her up, "we now know he was the driver in the black car. And he knows us, so I'm sure he'll be gunning for us -for you- again...you'll get your chance."

Fi's eyes were flashing, "It better be sooner than later!"

"Come on!" said Sam, "let's head back to the compound and get something to eat."

"No!" Fi insisted, "I think it's best we head out towards his mother's estate. Now that we know he is definitely involved, perhaps we'll find him at his mother's villa."

"Can we stop at one of the food vendors at least?" Sam asked, "I'm kinda hungry."

"Never mind that, Sam!" Fi snapped, "getting our hands on Hunter and the book will help ease any hunger pains you may be having!"

"Ah geez!" Sam huffed as he limped quickly to follow Fi. He may have to lick the honey from his leg to curb his appetite. He should have known better. Once Fi had something in her mind, nothing could stop her.

Not even a bullet.

.

.

Back at CIA offices, it was still early afternoon. Thanks to Agent Pearce, the coup in Africa had been achieved without inordinate bloodshed, the autocratic President having restored order once again.

This left Agent Pearce to deal with the Chief of Police in New York City regarding Gideon Hunter, aka _The Butcher._

"I am telling you, Mr. Maxwell," remarked Pearce, over the phone, "I have two agents and a civilian whose lives are in danger. Due to your screw ups, Gideon Hunter has been released and let loose somewhere in Tampa."

"Then you send your people out to get them!" Maxwell gruffed, "I've got enough to deal with IA and the DA's office all over this."

"If I send my force in, my three people could be killed and The Butcher could get spooked and vanish again. Besides, I don't have the manpower to spare."

Just then Pearce's assistant, Thomas Wright walked in, a file in his hand. Pearce gestured that she was on the phone and to give her a moment. He sat and could only hear Pearce's side of the conversation.

"Listen, it's _your_ prison he was released from and _you're_ responsible for this monumental error…" Pearce pointed out, "you've put my good agents in a precarious position…"

Pearce paused as Maxwell spoke, then she continued, "Wait! ...No, don't do that...yes, I understand, but give me 24 hours to allow time for my agents to clarify the situation before you do something so drastic...listen here, these agents hold valuable information that can save the lives of many CIA agents out in the field and they must not be harmed... Yes, 24 hours…good-bye..."

Pearce hung up and tiredly rubbed her face before she looked at her assistant, "He's agreed to hold off for a day. Reluctantly."

"Line two," was all the Wright said.

"Now what?" asked Pearce as she picked up the receiver, "Pearce, here."

"Dani, it's Harry Grant." Pearce indicated for Wright to reach over and turn on the conference button.

"You've got some news for me about Agent Glenanne, Harry?" asked Pearce.

"Yeah I do!" he sounded more aggrieved than yesterday, "And the news is she is out to destroy the world!"

Pearce sighed, "Harry, I don't want to hear anything except for Miss Glenanne's location."

"She's in hell and she's taking everyone with her..."

"Harry, listen...I don't want you to criticize my agents unless she's done something to physically harm you..."

"Bingo, the psychic is a winner!" Harry announced.

Pearce lifted an eyebrow, "_What_?"

"Yeah, I think Agent Nut was in Karate Kid 4...you know the one starring the girl? Well, that girl is all grown up now!"

"Harry, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Karate chop, Dani! I'm talking one karate chop from her and I was out!"

Pearce brightened, "So you've found her? She's alive?"

"Yeah, she's alive," Harry whined, "And I saw all two seconds of her before I went down! What kind of screwy agent is this anyway?"

"An accomplished one," responded Pearce, "When did all this happen?"

"Last night, I was checking the residence of Hunter's mother, when I spotted two people casing the joint. I saw the Hawaiian shirt man, he must be the hostage, poor man. Anyhow, Agent Nut was walking the grounds, so I followed her. I'm filing insurance for my neck!"

When Pearce looked over at her assistant, Tom had an expression of awe once again.

"That is certainly good news that Agent Glenanne is alive and operative" Pearce thought, hoping that Fi had in her possession _The Great Gatsby_ book, "It s urgent that you find her again because we have to let her know that _The Butcher_ is after her."

"There is no way in hell..." Harry began.

Pearce shuffled some paperwork around, "Oh, well you look at this, Harry? I've just found your request for a pay raise! _All it needs is my signature!_"

There was a long breath from the other side and then a reluctant response, "Where can I find her?"

As if on cue, Thomas Wright handed the file over to Pearce.

"There are two possibilities as to where she might be," Agent Pearce said, as she regarded the file, "If Agent Glenanne is with her friend Sam Axe, he may have contacted one of two people in that area. One, on the outskirts of Tampa, is an old girlfriend, and two, the other one is a warehouse the CIA occasionally uses as a safehouse."

She gave both directions to Harry.

"What do you want me to do once I find her?" he asked.

"Tell her what you know about _The Butche_r, and that I need to know if she has the book," Pearce began as thoughts of Michael then entered her mind, "and tell her to contact me immediately. It's vital."

Harry recited the message back to her and then added, "If I find her, she won't clobber me again if she finds me, will she?"

Pearce spoke quickly before Harry changed his mind, "As you know, Harry, there are no guarantees in life…just think about that hefty pay raise you'll be getting…got to go...the Secretary of State is on the other line...bye, Harry."

With the connection severed, Pearce leaned back in her chair with a huge sigh. At least Fi and Sam were alive. She shoved aside that fact in order to think of other questioning situations. She had 24 hours to find Fi and Sam. And Michael, she added. She's had no contact from him whatsoever.

_Where could he be?_

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.

_Please review_


	14. Chapter 14

A Meet up

Chapter 14

Agent Pearce had just finished dealing with a crisis in Mexico.

Her entire body ached and it was only late afternoon. She had already skipped lunch. Pulling out her desk drawer, she wondered how stale her peanut butter and crackers were that she kept in there for such emergencies.

She took a tiny bite as her mind drifted to the Fiona Glenanne fiasco. Had she done the right thing in assigning an untrained agent to act as a courier? They had certainly done it before and with great success. How did _this _mission fall apart like it had?

Of course, she had no way of knowing that _The Butcher_ was involved in this. As always, he always seemed one step ahead of authorities. Agent McGrath was one of their best and he was excellent at covering his tracks, but not this time. And in this business, one misstep will cost you your life.

Sighing deeply, she sadly mourned for Benjamin McGrath. He was an outstanding agent with an unblemished record and a fine human being.

From the point of view of her superiors, the mission up to this point was a failure- a clean sweep for the other side, an utter rout, six months of invaluable work gone up in smoke, no microfilm, a good agent dead, and three…well, three very competent people missing.

But she had hope that Michael, Fi and Sam would come out of this alive.

Agent Pearce hated to admit it, but she had always known there was some very special about Michael Westen. He was cunning and brilliant in a way that no other agent could even come close. And put him in combination with his fearless girlfriend and loyal best friend and you have the makings of one unbeatable team. Except what she had gone and done was break up this invaluable threesome.

Dammit to everyone, she thought, how much of Michael, Sam, and Fi missing was her fault?

And where the hell was the microfilm?

The sound of her office door interrupted her thoughts as Thomas Wright entered, carrying a folder.

"Oh, god, Tom," moaned Pearce, as she eyed the file in his hand, "tell me some good news for once."

"Well, there is…somewhat," said Thomas, "You know how you wanted me to look into the whereabouts of Michael Westen? I think we know a little more about what happened to him."

That little bit of news seemed to bring a light in Pearce's eyes.

"Well, out with it, then!" Pearce exclaimed impatiently.

"Seems Westen did make it over to Nemo's Bookstore. Agent McGrath had just recently installed a surveillance camera out in the back alley of Nemo's Bookstore. We were unaware of it at the time due to the paperwork pending in the Department of…"

"…can we speed this up, Tom?" Pearce interrupted, circling her hand around in a gesture that meant _move it_ _along._

Thomas cleared his throat.

"Yes, of course," said an embarrassed Thomas, "Anyway, the video shows two men carrying out what looks to be an unconscious Westen." He handed the file over to Pearce, who looked at the grainy photos, shot from a distance at an alleyway.

Pearce bent down, scowling, trying to make out what was happening in the photo. She grabbed her glasses and put them on. She then lifted the photo towards the light, looking at it from all angles.

"Tom, " she proposed, "is there a way we can clean up the photo? Hard to make out anyone here."

"Negative," stated Thomas, "That photo has been zoomed in and cleaned up to the max."

"Any chance one of the two men was _The Butcher_?" she asked.

"Pictures too unclear for us to make out any ID's," said Tom, "We're not even sure if that is Westen. It's just an assumption at this point."

Pearce sighed. She looked at the blue beat up SUV with the doors open. She noted that though it was faraway and blurry, nothing had obstruct the license plate.

"Can we at least get a partial off the plate from the SUV?" she pointed to the SUV in the picture.

Thomas Wright smiled, "And _that's_ where the good news comes in!"

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"Sam, are you STILL complaining about being hungry?"

Fi drove, with Sam on the passenger side, towards Mama Butcher's villa. They were going to do some surveillance outside the estate in hopes that _The Butcher_, aka Gideon Hunter would soon arrive. And that was a mighty big _if _at that.

Sam opened the glove compartment of Fi's car.

"Hey, there Fi, you've got something in here to snack on?" he inquired as he peered in, "preferably from the four food groups: beer, fat, sugar or chocolate?"

"I think I have a healthy snack bar in there," said Fi, "just move the gun aside."

"If I had a penny for everytime I had to move one of your guns..." Sam's voice trailed as he took out the snack bar. He ripped the top of the packaging off and took a bite. He then looked with disdain at the bar, "Crap! This taste like cardboard mixed with a glue glaze!" He then took another taste, "and with each bite, it feels like my mouth is being punished!"

"It contains lots of fiber which is healthy, Sam. And from what I have observed, you should be making better food choices. For instance, you need to add more fruits in your diet" Fi suggested, as she made a right turn.

"I _do_ eat fruits!" insisted Sam, sounding offended as he counted on his fingers, "why, just last week, I had _carrot_ cake, _zucchini_ bread and _pumpkin_ pie!"

"Sam, I'm serious," Fi said, "as you get older, you need to think more about your health!"

"Don't you worry about me, sister" winked Sam, "When I die, I plan to leave my body to science...fiction!"

Not a minute too soon, Fi had reached the outskirts of Mama Butcher's estate.

"Changing the subject, Sam, I have something to tell you that you're not going to like, " warned Fi, as she slowed her car down.

"Tell me something I don't know, Fi!"

Fi rolled her eyes.

Sam slowly turned his head to look at Fi. From the dim moonlight shining on the windshield, Sam could make out the seriousness of Fi's expression, although some of her profile was in shadow.

"Okay," said Sam, "what gives?"

Before Fi answered, she started to make a turn into the private lane of the villa. She had already turned off her headlights, slowly letting the car silently slide into a spot that had a good view of the house. Then she cut the engine.

Fi turned to Sam. She needed his full attention.

"It's about your friend, Roberto," stated Fi, "How well do you really know him?"

"How well do I really know Roberto?...hmmm...I guess I would describe us as two comfortable recliners... we go _way_ back…" Sam joked, and then when Fi was silent, he turned serious, "_why_?"

"It's just that I saw him doing something strange this morning, Sam."

Sam scratched his head.

"When you say he was doing something strange in the morning, Fi, was it like, oh, I don't know…him putting jello in his oatmeal?"

Fi sighed, wondering why it was so difficult for Sam to understand her. Isn't she just the typical All American explosives expert and precision marksperson?

No, Sam…" Fi reasoned, "This is serious…It happened much earlier than at breakfast time, in the early morning hours, when everyone should have been asleep. After what I witnessed I'm just not sure if we can trust him."

Sam sat back in his seat with a thud. He remembered quite a while back when both he and Roberto were young recruits, Roberto had defended Sam against their commanding officer who then proceeded to punish both of them for something only Sam had done.

Roberto had been a true friend. And Sam owed a debt to this wonderful friend who stuck by when he needed him. But when Sam looked over at Fi, he realized that she, Michael and even Madeline were the only people who stuck by him through_ anything_ and he trusted them with _his life_.

Neither one spoke for a time as they both looked out of the car. The huge estate was quiet except for two lit rooms up on the first floor. Otherwise, there were no other signs that anyone was there.

"Go on," urged Sam at last, "What happened that makes you think Roberto is untrustworthy?"

Fi told Sam what she had witnessed with Roberto covertly packing something in a white van and then the vehicle mysteriously disappearing in the middle of the night.

"_You_ didn't hear the sound of a van last night, did you, Sam?" Fi asked.

He shook his head, "No, but my room is across the way and doesn't face your side. Plus I've been taking painkillers and at night they really knock me out."

"Well, I think Roberto is keeping secrets from us, Sam."

Sam shrugged, "Maybe it's something going on in the compound that doesn't really concern us," he suggested, "For example, maybe he's getting supplies, or something else just as innocent."

"I thought of that, too," contemplated Fi, "but in the middle of the night? And then when I had breakfast with him that morning and directly confronted him about the van, he _denied_ that a van was ever there! He said he had slept through the night, Sam! He acted like I was crazy—and don't you _dare _make a comment about that!"

"Hey, you're the one who left yourself opened like that!" stated Sam. He rubbed his chin as if he were in deep contemplation, "I just think there's a simple explanation for all of those happenings. Just don't go jumping to conclusions."

"Oh? So you think I shouldn't be suspicious just because he's your friend, Sam?"

"I'm just saying that maybe you need to do a little less of jumping to conclusions and more of digging for the facts."

She gave Sam a hard look,"So you want me to do less jumping and more digging? How about if we do a little less colorful analogies?" she suggested drolly.

Sam did not look happy, "So you don't trust my friend and you want to make light of my advice? That's fine by me, sister!"

Fi did not like his tone and words. She folded her arms, "Fine!"

There was silence as they faced forward to view the house.

They had been looking out the front car window for a time when Fi suddenly unfolded her arms and leaned forward, "Sam, did you see it? It looked like some movement coming from one of the lighted windows!"

Taking in the seriousness of the situation, Sam squinted his eyes.

"I musta missed it," answered Sam, "But this is what I thought was rather odd. We've been here, for _what_, roughly twenty minutes, and up to this point there had been no shadows against the curtains, no other lights turned on since we've been here. I've almost convince myself that the house is empty or Mama Butcher lives in only two rooms in the house!"

"Well someone was in the house a second ago, because I'm _sure_ I saw a shadow walk across one of the lighted windows."

"So what's the plan?" Sam asked.

"I vote that we storm the place!" stated Fi.

"_Storm_ the place? With one gun? I think that's more like we'll drizzle the place," Sam said, "…another option is, we could go in under a cover guise."

"Why? You've got a special ID with you?" Fi asked.

"Why no, Fi, not at the moment,"Sam said drolly, "You see, I left my Superspy mustache box back in my other Hawaiian shirt pocket."

"Okay, then we'll do it my way," she decided.

"That's the only way I _don't_ want to do it," commented a truthful Sam.

"Don't worry, I'll play nice," stated Fi, "I always do…it's just that the other side tends to get the worse of the 'nice'."

"Oh, Christ, why do I think I'm going to regret this?" Sam asked.

"Just follow my lead," she replied, "Come on, let's go, Sam!"

"Ah, geez," complained Sam, "I give you an inch, and you become the ruler!"

The villa was suspiciously silent as they got out of the car and walked up to the front door.

"Wait!" said Sam, "Let's strategize before we do anything rash..."

"I agree," Fi nodded, as she did the complete opposite. She reached up and rang the doorbell.

_Ding-dong._

"Ah, Whatcha do that for, Fi?…" asked Sam, stunned.

"It was for the benefit of the other side...so they know to answer the door."

"No, what I mean is-"

"Ssshh!" Fi said, "Just listen for footsteps!"

They waited.

No answer.

However, from inside the house, they heard the ringing of a phone. Or more like a cellphone since it had a ringtone. The intro song played on, but no one answered it.

"_I don't think anyone is home_," whispered Sam.

"If you truly believed that, then stop whispering!" declared Fi_  
_

From inside, they heard the cellphone ringing song start up again. No one picked up. Sam looked worried as dread flooded his chest.

"What is it, Sam?"

"This doesn't add up," Sam remarked, "No pick up on a _cellphone_? Most people on planet earth don't go _anywhere_ without their cellphones."

"You're right…" responded Fi.

"So maybe we should…" Sam suggested.

"I'm right there!" Fi exclaimed, as she again did the opposite of what Sam wanted and brought up her fist to pound loudly on the door, "_Mrs. Hunter_!"

Nothing.

Sam pressed his ear on the door. When he straightened his body again, he had an expression of repugnance.

"Fi…" he said slowly," …is it me…or…is there a foul stench in the air?"

"Break the door down," Fi demanded

"Again, Fi, " Sam said as he pointed downward, "My leg?"

"Oh, that excuse is getting _soo_ old now!" Fi said, as she lifted her foot.

"Wait!" said Sam.

She stopped mid-motion as he tried the knob.

Fortunately, the door was unlocked.

"I know I'm not going to like what we'll find inside..." predicted Sam

Fi took out her gun as they entered.

The minute they entered, the smell of death assailed their senses.

They took five steps in, and froze.

The first thing they both noticed was two feet whom they assumed belonged to Mama Butcher. The feet were bare and were strapped to the coffee table with duct tape. It was, of course, attached to a body, the dead body of an elderly woman. On the floor next to the body was a power drill.

"Oh man, _Crap_!" exclaimed Sam, as he took a closer look at the bloodied scene.

There were precise, neat holes, perfect tiny circles of maroon red, through her toes and deep into her heels.

They assumed correctly that the holes made in her feet were due to the power drill. Stepping slightly closer, Sam and Fi also noted a drill mark on her rib cage, and through her cheekbone. Her terrorized face stared up at them, her eyes twisted. She had died in terrible pain.

Sam was the first to turn away, not wanting to think about the whirring screech and the screams that followed it as the drill must have decisively pierced through flesh and cartilage and penetrated bone.

"God almighty," Sam remarked, "You think her own son would do this to her?"

The morbid scene even affected Fi slightly, as Sam noticed she needed to swallow hard before responding, "I'd like to think not…there would be no reason for him…to…to...torture his own mother like this…"

She never had the opportunity to continue her sentence as they both suddenly heard a gruff voice behind them.

_"Drop the gun and put your hands up or I'll blast away at both of you..NOW!"_

Fi recognized the voice. It was _The Butcher_. Fi had no choice, but to drop her gun. And like a cliché in every gangster movie, both Sam and Fi put their hands up and slowly turned around.

Gideon Hunter, aka_ The Butcher_, stood firm, his eyes as black as coal and his expression solemn as he pointed two guns directly at them.

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_Please review._


	15. Chapter 15

An explanation

Chapter 15

Sam and Fi were staring down the barrels of two guns, held by Gideon Hunter, hired mercenary killer of CIA agents.

"I should tell you," he warned, with a quick glance at his guns, " I can shoot with either hand. I'm ambidextrous."

"Really? I would give my left arm to be that!" asked Sam sarcastically.

Hunter was not amused.

"You two were pretty hard to track down," stated Hunter, "but I knew sooner or later you'd turn up here."

Fi gestured towards the tortured bloodied body, "Well, you're obviously not much of a people person, especially when it comes to family..."

For a split second, when Hunter took a quick glance over at the dead body of his mother, his expression fell, but he quickly recovered and masked his feeling with a placid expression, "I had nothing to do...with that...when I got here…my mother's body was already in this condition."

She was not moved by his words, "It seems even your poker face is ugly."

_The Butcher_ kept his guns pointed at them

_When an opponent has possession of weapons and is pointing them at you, one of three things can happen. A; he fires. B; the gun is wrestled out of his hand, or C; he raises the gun to his head and shoots himself_.

_Of course, there is one more thing that can happen, but never in a million years does a spy expect plan D, which is why it is not usually included with the other three._

Gideon Hunter, aka _The Butcher_, the hardened convict, the assassin who has managed to stay one step ahead of authorities, the cold-blooded murderer of numerous CIA agents throughout world... seemingly out of nowhere, allowed both of his weapons to fall to the ground.

Then he slowly lifted his hands up in the air and quietly stated: "I surrender."

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(An hour later)

Peppino spotted Fi's Audi as it arrived at the gate of the compound. Opening the gate, Peppino couldn't help but notice they had a third occupant with them.

Meanwhile, in a tiny, secluded room, Roberto had been watching the ongoing activities on the security cameras. He witnessed Fi and Sam get out of the car. Fi then went over and opened the back door in order to yank someone out from the backseat of the car.

Roberto watched the screen closely. His eyes got larger and his mouth dropped upon recognition of the third occupant. Roberto was now glued to the screen and noted how _The Butcher_ was not shackled by steel handcuffs. No, he merely had his hands tied in front of him by what look like one of Fi's scarves.

"¡Dios mío!" Roberto whispered under his breath as he continued to stare at the screen, "What is this madness?" He quickly retrieved his gun before running out and welcoming his new guest.

By the time Roberto had entered the main room of the warehouse, Fi and Sam were already there. Sam had his gun trained on Gideon Hunter while Fi shoved Hunter down on the sofa. Roberto looked in dismay at his new "guest".

"Mi Amigos...I do not believe it! You, you have Gideon Hunter at last!"

"The one and only," Sam stated, keeping the gun pointed at Hunter.

Hunter was silent, only staring out in front of him.

"Search him!" insisted Roberto, as he also aimed his gun directly at Hunter, "this killer could be hiding more weapons he may use on us!"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, Roberto!" claimed Fi, "No knife, no other weapons. I did a very thorough job of searching him earlier. He has the body bruises to prove it!"

At that point Gideon Hunter looked at Fi with disdain, as Roberto looked questionably at Fi and Sam.

"So, what happened?" Roberto asked looking incredulously at Sam and Fi, "How were you able to capture this…no-good murderer?"

"Wish I could say it was a hard fought battle," Sam commented, "but the truth is, when he had the upper hand on us…he just surrendered…"

"Eh? just surrender, you say?" Roberto looked baffled, "What game this hombre playing?"

They turned to look at Hunter who stared ahead expressionless. He had not said a word since he had come in contact with Sam and Fi.

"That is what we are trying to ascertain," said Fi, as she kicked Hunter on the foot, "Hey! Look alive! _Talk_!"

Although two guns were aimed at Gideon he didn't seem the least bit perturbed.

Fi kicked him again, this time harder.

"I said, TALK!" she repeated harsher.

He spat at her, "B*tch!"

She kicked him in the shins this time, making him grimace in pain,as she addressed him, "_The way you say 'B*tch makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!"_

"Lay off him, Fi," suggested Sam, "Give him a chance to talk...and if he doesn't, Roberto and me will just leave the room and you can do what you want with him."

Fi looked pleased with that, "Just give me half an hour with him...his mouth will be the only part of him that can function!"

"Humph!" Hunter grunted and turned away from Fi. He did not look troubled at all as he continued staring straight ahead.

That infuriated Fi even more as she started to make a flying leap to him, but Sam and Roberto held her back, which was not an easy thing to do.

"Do you see what's happening here, Hunter?"warned Sam as he and Roberto struggled with Fi, "I don't think I can hold her back much longer and whatever you say, it better be one humdinger of a story!"

At last Hunter turned towards them to speak.

His voice was gruff and stiff, as if every word was causing him pain, "If you must know, I surrendered to you…because…I knew you could help me."

At his surprised announcemnt, Fi had stopped struggling. She indicated that she had calmed down. When Sam and Roberto released her, her eyes were flashing, "Help _you_? Like the way you helped _your mother_?"

For a second, there appeared to be a look of hurt in his eyes, but he blinked once and his face became hard once again, "I will say it one time. I was not responsible for that."

"Really?" asked Sam, Because I think it's rather funny about how you described your mother's send off as a '_that_'!"

Hunter looked at Sam with murderous eyes, "Enough! Do not speak of her again! I am here for I need your help!"

"Eh? You come for our help you say?" Roberto sounded skeptical, "After all you have done? _You are assassin!_"

_The Butcher_ shrugged, "Even assassins need assistance at times."

"You deserve nothing, nothing I say!" Roberto ranted, "I _knew_ some of those men you had murdered in cold blood! They were good agents!"

"Can I help it if I am good at what I do?" Hunter asked casually.

Fi couldn't help it. She gave him a backhanded slap across the right side of Hunter's face. She derived pleasure when she saw his head snap back.

"Fi!" yelled Sam.

"That's what he gets for almost killing me!" Fi shouted, before turning back to Hunter, "You must have been out of practice yesterday when you tried to shoot me at the plaza!"

Hunter looked scornful at Fi, "You think you'd be alive _now_, if I had aimed to kill you? Don't you get it? I purposely missed!"

"_Liar!_" Fi shouted, "That doesn't make any sense!"

He peered at her, looking somewhat smug, "I got your attention, didn't I? It led you back to the house, didn't it? Believe me, I had everything under _my_ control."

"Too bad you didn't let your mother in on your plans," Sam remarked.

Hunter faced forward again in silence, but there seemed to be a slight quivering of his lower lip.

Fi turned to Sam, "Sam, give me that half an hour alone with him _now_."

"Fi," said Sam, "Remember…if you are serious about being a spy…spies know how to restrain themselves!"

"I can do that," agreed Fi, "It's not like I will kill him...I'll just make sure the shockwave of my arm passing through him will be enough for him to talk, I promise."

Hunter leaned forward impatiently, "Are you three going to continue playing two-and-a-half bad cops, half good cop, or do you want to hear what else I have to say?"

Fi looked with distrust at Hunter before speaking to Roberto and Sam , "I think he may still be up to something."

"If he is up to something, Senorita, " warned Roberto, "he won't live to carry it out."

Fi nodded knowing, keeping her expression placid, "It's best you keep that in mind, Roberto."

Roberto scowled, "Eh? **_I_** keep in mind? What you mean by this?"

His questions were ignored as Sam stepped forward, bent down, and got right into Hunter's face.

"Do you see what's happening, Hunter?" Sam asked, "I think I may be the only understanding one in this bunch, so you better talk fast! I don't think I can hold these two back! If she doesn't beat it out of you, the other guy will confuse the hell out of you. So tell us..why are you here?"

"I told you, I need help," he stated. He managed to keep his voice even, "They're after me. Those SOBs are after me. They have taken me over now."

"Wait…" said Sam, "Who are these SOB's you are referring to?"

"Those corrupt CIA agents who hired me, of course." Gideon Hunter responded, "They are getting more powerful."

"And by saying they have 'taken you over'" continued Sam, "I assume you don't mean in a zombie-like matter."

"Of course not, Sam," Fi answered for the Hunter, "he probably means he is not the one who is in command of his own situation. They are becoming too powerful, even for him."

Hunter looked unaffected, "But you are wrong there again. For remember, I still have in my possession the microfilm that contains all the agents who are involved in these criminal undertakings. And as long as I have the list, I have power over _them_."

"We do not need list," announced Roberto, "we have you."

"But I will not talk," Hunter stated, "unless you help me."

"No, _you_ will help _us_!" Fi harshly pointed a finger in his chest, "You had stopped me from completing my mission! I want that book with the microfilm!"

Hunter look forward in silence once again.

"You can be sure, Hunter," Roberto spat the name out, "that we will get that list! ¡Sin duda! My agent friend was killed trying to get it!"

Hunter turned calmly to Roberto.

"The list did not kill McGrath, you fool!" stated Hunter, "It was of his own doing. Remember, your agent was the one that _stole_ the list from me! Don't you see? I was merely getting my own list back."

"_Did you have to murder him_?" Roberto sounded emotional, "He was good agent! Ah yes, the devil truly lives within you, Senor!"

"Perhaps," said Hunter cold-bloodedly, "But I had no choice. It was either him or me. And now they are after me."

"You understand," declared Sam, "that even if we help you, you will never be a freed man."

"Why do you think I let you bring me here?" Hunter lifted his head high, "I want to go back."

"Back where?" asked Fi, "to hell?"

Hunter gave Fi a reproachful glance.

"To prison," responded Hunter, "After all, I never asked to be taken out."

Sam, Fi and Roberto were stunned as they looked at one another.

"_You_," Sam asked point blank, "…_want to go back to prison_?"

Hunter glared at Sam, "I hate repeating myself."

"And I hate you, " said Sam, "but nevertheless, tell us why you want to go back?"

_The Butcher_ puffed his cheeks then slowly let the air out.

"Look, " he explained, "I always work alone. They tell me a name, I seek him out and do my job. No other instructions, no interference. The money is paid in a Swiss account when the job's done. But lately these SOB corrupt agents of yours have been getting in my face; giving me orders, telling me how and when. And when I don't do it their way, they begin threatening me. Threatening me! _No one tells me what to do and they can damn well hurt whoever they want, but I go by my own code!"_

For the first time, the tone in his voice indicated that he was feeling real emotions now and Fi realized he was recalling what they had done to his mother.

"So you're saying the bad CIA agents did that to your mother as a warning." Fi said quietly.

Hunter had time to get his emotions intact and shrugged, "Probably, to keep me in line, the B*stards."

"Okay, " said Sam, "let's back it up here, so you _want_ to go to the slammer?"

"Bingo!" he explained peevishly, "For trained agents, the three of you are rather slow."

"I'm a _trainee_ agent," Fi announced.

He turned to her with indifference, "And this concerns me, how?"

"Just informing you " Fi warned, "in case, some harm comes to you because of me, I could plead lack of training and inexperience."

But Hunter looked disinterested, "So, are you three going to make sure I get back to prison, or what?"

"Hard to say…" Sam began.

"Do what you need to do to me, then." Gideon Hunter reasoned, "It does not matter. You will never get the list without me. If you keep me here, you will need to keep me here indefinitely, for I will not talk. If you let me loose, who knows, perhaps I may kill other good agents. But send me back to prison and you will not hear from me again. I guarantee it."

Fi was repulsed, "I bet the next thing you'll be saying is that you are rehabilitated and filled with remorse and are tired of killing people?"

He gave her a cold stare, "No, I will never say that."

"Just so that we are on the same page here," Sam interjected, "What's so great about prison?"

"They leave you alone." He explained, "I don't like people. I don't like being controlled. People crowd me. They think they own me. I want to go back and get some peace and quiet."

"Whoa," said Sam, "I didn't see any of this coming at all."

Roberto spoke to Sam, his tone sounding angry, "Mi amigo, how can we even think of helping this…this lunatic killer?"

"I agree," concurred Fi, "prison is too good for him and he's basically asking us to save his pitiful life."

"So what do you two want to do?" asked Sam, "Keep him here forever? Set him free to possibly kill again?"

As the three pondered what to do, Gideon Hunter casually said something that made Fi open her eyes wide in terror.

"Oh one more thing, " Hunter looked to be smiling, but it was actually more a sneer, "I almost forgot to tell you…those bad CIA agents I was referring to previously? The ones who schemed to kill good agents around the world? Who brutally tortured my mother to death?…well, I just thought I'd give you a heads-up… they've now got an agent named Michael Westen in captivity."

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_Please review_


	16. Chapter 16

Michael

Chapter 16

Michael was exhausted and sluggish, but nevertheless, he was forced to walk. He had been kept in a locked room, but now he was being moved.

A guard dressed in a suit had grasped Michael's arm as he dragged him through a door in the building. If Michael would dawdle for even a second, he would get a jab in the ribs. Michael learned very quickly that it was best to keep moving.

The place they took him to looked like it had been an old office building, now abandoned and sloppily renovated. The door through which they entered was set at one end of a long rectangle, and as they entered, it seemed to be one long hallway. As they walked down the corridor, Michael noted that all the windows had been boarded up so that he was unable to view the outside world. His world now consisted of these four walls.

On their left of the dark passageway Michael could make out two locked doors.

One of the doors was opened from the inside and Michael was shoved into a large air-conditioned room of white-washed stone. The office contained a desk, a chair, a water cooler and a computer. There were two men standing in suits, but Michael concentrated on the man seated behind a desk.

The imposing man, who had the demeanor of a General going off to war, was barking orders on the phone. Michael only caught the tail end of it.

"God dammit! Find the B*stard traitor!"

The General then slammed the phone down. His demeanor changed when he saw Michael. His features relaxed slightly, but it was still solemn and stoned face. He did not say a word, seeming to be waiting for Michael to speak first.

"I don't suppose you have any aspirin," opened up Michael, who was still in a weakened state, "I've had the most ridiculous headache for hours."

When the General smiled, a gold tooth flashed, "Glad you are lucid, Westen. We have a few things to discuss, whether you are ready to or not."

Michael recognized that voice. It was the voice of one of his tormentors. So this was the person who had the power of cessation over his life. He would not let that thought consume him.

_A spy learns that in a threatening situation, it is best to take each hour as it comes and not to anticipate beyond. Live for the minute until you can figure out how to live longer._

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," Michael began.

The General, or whoever he was, leaned forward in his chair and impaled Michael with a sharp glance, "I had hoped for a more intelligent comment from you, Mr. Westen. As a top notched spy, you are aware that in the espionage game, introductory names are superfluous."

Michael looked to his left and then to his right, at the two men standing near the door dressed in their suits with serious demeanors. He recalled what Agent Pearce had told him about corrupt CIA agents, who will stop at nothing to appease their own greed.

Michael concluded correctly that these were some of the unscrupulous CIA agents.

"Fine," Michael commented, "You don't talk, I don't talk either."

The General snorted.

"Except, as you can see, Westen," the General stated, "I am in command here. You have already experienced some of my methods for extracting the truth—they are very exact and brutal, as I am sure you can attest to."

Michael internally shuddered at the memories. He could not recall exactly what had been done to him, but he remembered feeling as if his internal organs had been burned and liquefied and then tossed into a black abyss over and over again.

"I am sure you are at the very top of your profession," responded Michael, "if the profession were made up of corrupt, demented CIA agents, that is."

The General did not look insulted as he leaned back, "So you DO know who we are."

There was a pause, before he added, "I could easily continue the torturing of you, Westen, but I am now thinking that you might be ready to cooperate willingly. I'd like to think we are civilized people, after all."

As Michael sat up, he grimaced, feeling the aftereffects of the punishment his body had received. He felt weak and rubbery inside.

"I agree," Michael stated, "I'm sure my moans of anguish must slow you down in getting the information you want from me."

The General brought his hands together, all tips of his fingers touching, "I have had quite a few jollys these past days watching you; your will to live is commendable, I must say. Lesser men would have crumbled. And now I understand why you are considered one of the best in the field. In that way you and I are alike."

Michael shrugged.

"Us, alike?" questioned Michael, "I only see differences, the major one being...I am not repulsively deranged," he stated with a straight face.

Incredibly, the General still managed to show no emotions as he spoke, "I like how you dare to match wits with me, knowing what I can do to you. You have indeed exceeded my expectations."

"I'm still waiting for _you_ to reach _mine_," Michael challenged.

With that comment, the smile finally disappeared from the General's face, "It's best you kowtow to me, Westen. You have no idea whom you are dealing with!"

"Well, I can't know because you won't tell me anything," reminded Michael, being purposely difficult, "All I know is that I am still alive. So, therefore, I must be important to you."

_There are times that a spy feels it is advantageous to make someone upset. A good example is when the spy wants to extract information from his adversary. An angry opponent will often open his mouth and shut his eyes._

The General was actually getting red in the face, " You, _important_? I have more impressive people working for me than you, believe me!"

From what Michael could ascertain, this General person, or whatever his name, was arrogant and prone to bragging. They were the best candidates to get information from because they loved to talk about their accomplishments.

"Oh?" Michael inquired, "So, I am not the only big fish in your little pond?"

"Let's just say," the General bragged, "that in addition to you, I have someone under my control who has a _more_ impressive reputation among CIA agents than even you. His ruthlessness knows no bounds. He is a coldblooded killer, in fact."

Michael's mind still felt a little jumbled, but he knew how to play to the General's arrogance. There was only one person whose bad reputation struck fear for all CIA agents for the past five years.

"Are you referring to _The Butcher_?"

The General dropped his mouth, before recovering, "So say you."

"Is the Butcher involved in all of this?" Michael asked more insistently, as images of Fi entered his mind.

The General ignored that remarked, "It is_ I_ who will ask the questions, Westen! So, let's start over again, and hope I won't have to use the other method again."

Michael looked stoic, "Ask away."

The General looked Michael directly in the eyes, "You visited Nemo's Bookstore a few days ago, did you not?"

"I did," Michael answered.

_A spy also knows the fastest way to get to the truth is to tell the truth._

"For what purpose?" he asked.

"This may be hard for you to understand," Michael stated, "but I was at the bookstore to buy a book."

_Then again, sarcasm is intellect on the offensive. And it also makes for more entertaining conversation. _

The General gave Michael a hard look. The other two men in the room pressed forward, but the General waved them away.

"What was the name of the book?" he inquired.

"Are you asking for a recommendation?" Michael asked, looking innocent.

One of the two men in suits moved forward and stood next to Michael. Michael knew what that meant. He'd better answer the questions if he wanted to stay in one piece.

Even now, Michael was having problems breathing without effort. It felt as if one of his lungs had been caved in. Best to be a little more cooperative.

"Okay, I get your point…Whatever book you were looking for, I had hoped to find it, too, " Michael declared, looking straight at the General, "however, I can honestly say, I do not have it."

At last the General looked pleased.

"Ahh! So you _do_ know more than you let on!"

"Of course," said Michael, "From one good spy to an unscrupulous one, you should know that already."

"I also know more than you think," the General reached over and opened his file, "You were there in hopes of locating…an agent _Fiona_?"

The General paused for effect and when Michael did not answered he continued, "You inadvertently yelled out her name during one of our more, shall we say, intense interrogations."

"That so?" commented Michael, his senses on alert, as he tried to distract the General, "because I believe I was yelling out the name_ Theona_."

The General smiled, "Do not play with me, Westen. We will find out the last name of this Fiona soon enough! I gather from what my _associate_ had said that this Fiona is quite attractive. Perhaps _this_ is the real reason you seeked her out, _hmmm_?"

Michael tried to maintain a placid facade, but his temple was throbbing. He purposely leaned forward at General's desk.

"Well," said Michael, working to keep his voice steady, "due to _your_ interference, I was unable to retrieve her _or_ the book."

Michael had leaned so far forward, in fact, that the guard that had been standing next to him, suddenly shoved him back down in his seat. Unbeknowest to either the guard or the General, Michael had slipped the heavy paperweight that had been on the desk, into his pants pocket.

The General stared at Michael with dislike," Next thing you'll be telling me is that you have no idea as to her location."

"I see we have played this game before," said Michael, " and in answer to your question, would I have been looking for her at the bookstore if I already knew where she was? Even a low level conniving agent such as yourself would have to admit, what I stated is logical."

Michael turned in anticipation of receiving a blow from the agent standing next to him. He knew in his weakened state, there was no way he could overcome three trained agents.

Fortunately the agent remained rooted in his spot.

The General, however, was getting impatient. He had learned nothing new at all, "I am starting to think you are not worth my time. At least try and convince me that your life is worth saving, Westen."

Michael knew the General meant business. He'd better do some fast doubletalk.

"It's in your best interest to keep me alive, if you want your microfilm, that is. You'll just have to be patient. It will come to you."

Now, the General was intrigued, "Explain yourself, Westen."

"It means," Michael said, "that sooner, more than later, _Theona_ will come looking for me. At that point, you can interrogate her yourself."

The General had a glint in his eyes, And "I will take great pleasure in that! But for now, I tire of you." He gestured to the nearby agent, "Take him away for now, but make sure he eats something. He'll need his strength when I show our interrogation techniques to his captured friend."

Michael hoped he was right. Knowing Fi and Sam, they'd find a way to locate him. Right now, though, he was bone- tired exhausted. Wherever these agents were taking him, he just wanted to sleep.

Slowly Michael arose, trying hard not to let the paperweight he hid in his pants drop, "Oh, there is one other matter."

The General looked up with disdain, "What is it_ now_?"

"The aspirin I asked about earlier. Do you have it?"

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"**_Those evil CIA agents have Michael_**?" Fi was beside herself as she bitterly shouted the words at Hunter.

"Yeah, and they worked him over pretty good," said Gideon Hunter, looking unconcerned_, "_I should know, I was there in the room with him. You would have been proud how he held up."

Fi's face turned an angry shade of red and she reached over and gave him the hardest of slaps, this time leaving an obvious handprint on the side of his face.

"**You were there? You were goddamn there and you didn't stop them**?" She was screaming.

Instantly, Sam grabbed her and with the help of Roberto, they prevented Fi from causing further harm to Hunter. Even with two strong men, they found it hard to control a struggling Fi.

"Fi, stop it! Just stop it!" breathed out Sam who had a hard time controlling Fi, "You're not helping matters!"

But Fi was having none of it, "Sam! **Michael is in danger because of **_**me**_!" she yelled, along with some expletives.

"Senorita, please!" Roberto attempted, but it was difficult as he scrambled to keep his hold on her.

"**LET ME AT HIM!**" Fi attempted to kick Hunter, forcing Sam and Roberto to drag her further back, but she continued kicking at the air.

"Fi!" Sam tried to reason with her, "Stop! Knock off the wrestling match with us too, it only wastes time! _Don't you want to save Michael?"_

The last part of what Sam said affected her as she at last stopped trying to wrangle away from the men. She remained still.

Both men breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good, Senorita," Roberto said, "Now…we will let you go and you will be peaceful, yes?"

Fi gave one last frustrated motion.

"Yes..." Fi relented, "YES, but only because I need to find out where they have Michael."

"We will ALL find out where Michael is," Sam said as he tentatively took his grasp off of Fi.

Roberto glared at Hunter, "You talk now, Killer!"

"Those CIA idiots have no idea I had the microfilm all along." Hunter stated, looking relaxed, "so yeah, they pulled out all the stops in getting Westen to talk. I tried my best to soften their 'techniques' when they interrogated Westen about your names and the location of the book, but there was only so much I could do without giving myself away. However, let me assure you, he could have suffered worst without me."

"**You. Let. Him. Be. Tortured**!" Fi gave him a death stare.

Hunter shrugged, "I saved his life."

"So," Roberto said, "If we turn you in, you will turn this microfilm in as well as testify against these CIA hoodlums?"

Hunter nodded, "Yes, you have my word."

"Your word doesn't amount to much, does it?" glared a still angry Fi, "You've double crossed the double crossers!

He looked back at her with disdain, "You have no other choice but to trust me."

"So you know exactly where they are keeping Michael?" Sam questioned.

"Of course, " volunteered Hunter, "there are a row of office buildings just off the International Airport. I can take you there."

"No way, " responded Sam, "no way in hell we are letting you leave this facility."

"I agree," nodded Roberto, "So, you wish I stay here to watch him, Amigo?"

"I wouldn't trust _you_ with a ten foot pole!" announced Fi to Roberto, "in fact, I'd probably hit you on the head with it!"

The comment threw Roberto for a loop, "You have been talking such crazy things to me all the time now! What is wrong with you, Senorita?"

"Nothing is wrong with _me_!" Fi showing her obvious mistrust of him, "I'm just saying that I'd like to _senor _your _ita_!"

Roberto pleaded with Sam, "Amigo, please, explain..."

"Look, tensions are just high, alright?" Sam said, trying to ease the situation, "She didn't mean anything by what she said, Roberto."

Fi l folded her arms and looked away.

"So…" Roberto with a furrowed brow asked, "What you two want me to do?"

"Actually, Roberto," Sam decided, "we could do with an extra hand out there in the real world. You should come with us. I think if we lock Hunter down tight, Peppino should be able to handle him."

Roberto nodded, "Whatever you say, my friend, I am here for you."

"_Hah_!" Fi countered.

She skeptically eyed Sam's supposed friend.

"You just better watch your back, Roberto," warned Fi, "because I'll be stabbing you in the front if I find out you are part of Michael's kidnapping!"

"Senorita..." Roberto seemed to be pleading, "I-I not...

"Enough of talk!" Fi exclaimed decisively,"...let's go save Michael!"

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_Please review_.


	17. Chapter 17

Gathering Facts

Chapter 17

Agent Pearce had a meeting with CIA director Harrison Wilson. The purpose was to review what had happened with the Tampa tourist/courier fiasco.

"Yes, it's true that there have been no actual sightings of Agent Westen or Fiona Glenanne," Pearce admitted, "But reliable sources tell us they are still alive."

Director Wilson did not look appeased at all, "Hmmph! If I never hear the words 'reliable sources' it will be too soon. Do you have a grasp of their actual locations? "

"We have narrowed down possibilities for both of them," Pearce reported, "and we plan to investigate further, however, as of this moment, we are low on available manpower."

"Low on manpower?" repeated Director Wilson, "I hope you are not putting this back on _me_! You know the state of economy these days-I've had to cut corners and deal with budget cuts all around!"

Pearce stared at him for a second before she bravely parroted, "If I never hear the words 'budget cut' it will be too soon."

Director Wilson did not find it humorous one bit.

"Then answer me this, Agent Pearce," said Director Wilson demanded, "how the hell in an operation of this magnitude did we ever let a civilian get mixed up in all of this? It's like you've assigned a housewife to gun down the mafia!"

The Director had been in a foul mood all morning. He didn't know how he was going to explain to the State Department how a civilian got mixed in with corrupt CIA agents in addition to the world's most wanted assassin. What's next?

"Actually, Director Wilson," Pearce was saying, "in the past, we have used private citizens many times in courier assignments with great success. And usually these deliveries do not involve any contact with our adversaries at all."

"So what was so different this time?" Director Wilson wanted to know, "Confound it, I have to explain to my higher ups how an innocent civilian…a lone female, no less!…disappeared in the middle of a covert CIA operation!"

Agent Pearce quickly rifled through a pile of papers she had on her lap and efficiently extracted the needed folder.

"This is Miss Glenanne's background folder," she explained, "As you can see, she is no stranger to dangerous situations."

Director Wilson reluctantly opened the file and quickly scanned the contents. At first his look was noncommittal, but as he read on, his eyes got very large at certain points.

"You are aware, are you not, " the director began, "that there is a penalty for falsifying an agent's official CIA file?"

"I do, sir," assured Pearce.

"This file, here…" he began awkwardly… "is this _truly _a file of _one_ person's accomplishments, or a composite of several of our agents?"

Agent Pearce couldn't hide her smile, "Yes, just one civilian, Fiona Glennanne, although we consider her an agent trainee at this moment."

He looked once more at the file, flipping several pages.

"B-but how is this all possible?" The Director looked flabbergasted as he read on. He then looked back at Agent Pearce, "And look here at her field of expertise! Are you telling me that Miss Glenanne were proficient in _all_ these skills _before_you hired her for this agency_?_" he asked.

"Believe me, Director, she is tops in each of those fields. Her background story for the past six years reads like a best-selling thriller novel of international intrigue. Only with more explosives."

The Director cleared his throat, "Well, perhaps Agent Glenanne _is _qualified to handle herself in this crisis."

Pearce was relieved she wasn't going to take a browbeating from Wilson. However, she was secretly worried about Fiona. Although they were never on friendly terms, Pearce felt responsible for putting her out in the field with very little backup.

The bottom line was that despite Fiona's impressive skills, she like Western, was only human.

The Director interrupted her thoughts.

"My sources tell me that another agent, Michael Westen was also involved in this operation," he stated.

"Marginally," Pearce was quick to respond.

"Last I heard, he came up missing, too…is that the latest you have for me, Agent Pearce?"

Pearce showed him the surveillance picture with the showing two men carrying off an unconscious man who possibly could be Westen.

Just then there was a door knock. It was Pearce's assistant, Thomas Wright.

"Didn't I ask not to be disturbed?" Pearce asked it like a demand.

"I know," Tom stated tentatively as he held up a folder, "but, Dani, I think you might want to take a look at this."

Pearce sighed. What now? she asked as she took the file and opened to the first of six 8 x 10 pictures taken by a crime scene police photographer.

"My god!" Pearce was staring down at gruesome photos of Myrtle Hunter's bloodied disfigured body, "Who is she?"

"That's what Police discovered when they answered a call to the house of Gideon Hunter's mother," Tom explained solemnly."

"W-what exactly happened to her?" Pearce wanted to know, looking up at her assistant.

"Power drill," Tom responded, his mouth set in a straight line as Director Wilson was passed some of the photos. The Director had an expression of disgust as he scanned each pictured before tossing it back on Pearce's desk.

Pearce was shaking her head as she scanned the other pictures that were scattered on her desk now, "I don't think I'll ever be able to eat on top of my desk again!"

The Director had completed viewing all the photos and looked none to happy when he turned to Pearce, "Are your _agents_ responsible for…this…this situation?" the Director demanded to know, pointing to one of the gruesome pictures.

"What?" Pearce looked indignant, "No, _what_? Are you referring to Agent Glenanne? No, of course not!" she defended.

"You said she was well skilled in many fields, I assume, therefore, your agent could handily work a power drill!" The Director exclaimed.

"Excuse me for interrupting, Sir," interjected Tom, "But that is not Agent Glenanne's M.O." he stated it with certainty.

"My assistant is correct, Director," Pearce stated, "Check her file again…while I don't doubt that Agent Glenanne is well versed in using a power drill, my sense is that we would more likely see her using explosives to make her point."

The Director just shook his head, "Power drill? _Explosives?_ I really...don't know which way would be considered the more chosen way to go."

"If you don't mind me saying, Sir, " Tom interjected again, "It's a matter of intensity...many sounds of _rizzzz_ or one deafening _ka-boom._.."

"What Tom is trying to say," Pearce tried to smooth things over, "is that uh, neither is acceptable."

"Although Agent Glenanne's is the more impressive," Tom defended.

Before The Director could add to the comments, Agent Pearce felt the pocket of her jacket vibrating. Covertly taking out her Blackberry, she peered at the screen.

"Excuse me, Director," Pearce apologized, "I think I better take this call."

"This _better_ be important!" insisted the Director.

Pearce gave a nod of acknowledgement as she brought the device up to her ear, "Pearce here… Harry, you've got something for me?"

Wilson could only hear gibberish coming from the other end before Pearce replied, "Alright. I'll handle it on my end here. Thanks."

The call only took a few seconds but Director Wilson still managed to look impatient as Pearce hung up.

"I hope you have some news for me to report back to my superiors!" he insisted.

Pearce nodded, "I do, in fact, Director Wilson. It seems we have narrowed the possible location of Agent Glenanne. Seems she, along with an associate, is holed up in a secluded government safehouse near the wharf."

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Michael was having a dream.

_He was angry that Fi had taken on a CIA mission. He knew when he took her on as his girlfriend that she was no weeping wallflower, but he certainly did not want her running around the countryside risking her life at every turn._

_And he told her that. She, of course, argued with him about it and ended up stomping off and slamming their bedroom door._

_Fifteen minutes later, Michael worked up the nerve to approach the closed door. He knocked gingerly with two knuckles of his right hand. There was no sound or response from within. Perhaps she had already gone to bed, he thought._

_The door swung gently open, leaving Michael's hand suspended in midair as he had planned on knocking again._

_Michael gripped the doorframe with his hand to keep form falling backward. His gaze traveled over Fi in her red negligee. He greedily absorbed every detail: the way her breasts were enticingly pushed together and upward by the silky bodice, the sensual length of her leg, the lush outline of her body. The startlingly simple red nightgown was elegant yet provocative ._

_He had never seen a woman more beautiful in his life._

_The ice in his stomach dissolved as he was filled with a raging inferno of desire. And like a glass of ice water exposed to a radically change in temperature, his self-control threatened to shatter._

_"Does this meet with your approval, Michael?" she asked, her voice low and sensual._

_Unable to speak, Michael managed a nod. Was she still angry with him? If so, why the red gown? Was it that she was trying to give him the worst possible punishment she could devise?_

_He wanted her so badly it hurt. He longed to touch her, to put his hands on her soft skin, to kiss her sensual lips._

_Fi's gaze swept over him in feminine assessment, lingering on his face, "Come in Michael."_

_Was this a trick?_

_Who cares, he thought as he slowly entered their bedroom._

_"Fi," Michael at last found his voice, "I'm so sorry. I was wrong to tell you how to run your life.."_

_His arms suddenly closed around her as he placed his hand on her chin to force her face upward. Her heart swiftly warmed to him._

_Michael's mouth dove and captured hers, blazing, and insistent, as he fed hungrily off the warmth and taste of her. Fi quivered and pushed at him, struggling to ignore the wild pleasure that flared inside of her, the eager response that was immune to reason._

_Her response seemed to cause a small shock within him. The kiss turned harder and deeper, his tongue exploring her in eager surges as she pressed herself tightly against him._

_Michael could feel himself turning feverishly hot…_

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The door to Michael's locked room immediately opened.

The CIA guard who had opened the door was heard another one of Michael's rantings. It seemed as if Michael slipped in and out of nighmarish dreams quite frequently since his internment.

"Westen!" the guard roughly shook him to wake him, "Westen!"

At the sound of the other man's voice, Michael quickly opened his eyes and realized that it had all been a dream. Looking about, he realized he was presently in a locked room that contained basically two cots, a wooden table and a sink.

"W-what?" Michael drowsily said as he lifted his head and looked about. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He realized he was still being held prisoner. He longed to go back to his dreamlike state.

"Nightmare," the guard blurted out before shutting the door behind him again.

Then the man was gone.

Michael wearily dropped his head back on the cot, figuring that would be the only people interaction he would receive for the day. Not that he was complaining. At least his name didn't end up in the obituary section of a newspaper, he thought gratefully.

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Michael took his time getting up. After all, what was his motivation?

With his stomach grumbling, Michael realized that he was hungry. When was the last time he had eaten? Right now, he would give anything to having something sweet to eat, which was unusual for him.

He could picture the General ordering agents to bring in an air freshener with the scent of cinnamon buns just so Michael could wake up with false hope. Hmmph. Michael might even be willing give up more names for that breakfast right now.

He surveyed the room, wondering how to keep himself occupied.

_Spies know there are two absolutes in the world of espionage: 1) Keep your mind alert, 2) Ditto, your body._

And Michael planned to do the second.

It took an effort just for him to stand. His insides still felt rubbery, when it should be flexible. Now was as good as time as ever to begin. He started slowly by stretching his upper torso and legs.

After twenty minutes, he was feeling worn out, but he would work through the aches and tiredness. He tried to create positive mental images in his mind, but all he could hear in his mind was the empty sounds of his stomach. His body was telling him it must be nearing noontime about now.

He wondered how he might escape. He was too weak to even take down one agent, but at least he had the knowledge that the paperweight he had stolen from the General's office was safely tucked underneath his mattress.

Ten minutes later, the door opened.

It was mealtime at last, and along with the tray of food, the guard entered with what looked to be a new prisoner.

A man with Eastern European looks and a thick mustache was kicked unceremoniously into the room, ahead of the lunch trays.

Michael peered at the new arrival, then at the agent guard who smirked, "Say hello to your new roomie, Westen. He's not worth your time, though. The guy's a total mute; what you might call deaf and dumb."

Then the agent guard left, shutting the door behind him.

Michael didn't give the new prisoner a second thought as he rushed to get the tray of food that the guard had left on the lone wooden table. Food was all Michael could think about now, he was famished. Taking his seat on his cot with his meal on the tray, Michael tore at his bread and clumsily slurped his soup. It was actually a good sign that he had an appetite.

At one point, he stopped to look at the other man, who also sat on his cot, but was slowly nibbling at his food. Did the guard actually mean this man was deaf and mute or was he being facetious?

"Hello." Michael said, looking up from his meal, waiting for a reaction. The man kept his head down, hungrily eating. Michael shrugged and resumed eating his lunch.

At last, in the middle of this meal, Michael could feel the man's eyes on him. Facing the man again, Michael gave a friendly nod, only to be met with a silent reproach from the stranger, who then resumed staring straight at the wall, and continued stuffing food in his mouth.

"Hey," Michael tried later again to be friendly.

The man had no reaction, as if he were in his own silent world. He merely continued eating while staring straight forward. Michael sighed. Having a silent partner was almost like having no one around at all and Michael could do with some conversation.

Michael looked over at the man again. The new visitor was purposely avoiding any type of interaction with Michael. The lack of even an acknowledgement somehow bothered Michael. After all, two people locked in a room together against their will should be allies against their adversary.

_Besides, _Michael thought to himself,_ Why would these rogue CIA agents want to put two prisoners together?_

Michael casually took another bite of his bread.

"Just be careful with your cot," Michael announced, although the man was not even looking Michael's way, "Earlier, I noted a rat scurrying among your sheets."

There actually wasn't a rat running about the man's sheets. Nevertheless, the man suddenly stopped chewing and looked down repulsively on his cot. He then stretched out his hand to whack at three different sections of his cot. When nothing popped out of his sheets, the man merely shrugged and continued facing forward to finish his lunch.

And that's when Michael knew.

_The new prisoner was definitely **not** deaf and mute._

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_Please review_


	18. Chapter 18

Feeling better

Chapter 18

_So why was this new prisoner placed in the same locked room as Michael? Was he sent to spy on Michael?_

The room with the two cots was already crowded with one person, let alone two. Nevertheless, Michael had no choice but to accept his 'roommate' although he didn't trust him. Especially since this mute man could actually hear.

The lunch trays were taken away as Michael slowly stood up. His body had gone through hell and back, but now it seemed to be slowly recovering. He had to will himself to exercise since he knew the best way to get back into shape was to work at it. There was no easy way to do it. It would take self motivation and sweat.

Michael got down on the ground and proceeded to try and do as many push- ups as possible.

His arms felt like rubber but he willed them to become sturdy as he went down on the count of one. Then two. Then three. He was straining by the time he finished three. But if he could do three, he could do four.

Breaking out in a sweat, he paused from the push ups so that he could removed his shirt. Then he immediately got back in a push-ups prone position. Down his straight body went and he unsteadily came up for a count of four. Michael knew his body was telling him to not do anymore, to stop. Luckily his mind was stronger than his body.

And he knew he needed to get stronger in order to escape.

A_ spy knows opportunity is often disguised as hard work._

After a count of four, more sweat had surfaced on his forehead and his arms were shaking. He was struggling to breathe naturally. Attempting to go down on five, Michael instead collapsed on the floor. With effort he sat up on the floor with his back against the cot.

He just needed a small break, he thought, surely he could get to ten.

Breathing hard, he decided instead that perhaps the rest of his exercise would consists of a good brisk _sit._

Michael was puffing hard when he looked up and saw that the other guy, sitting at his cot, staring over at him. Taking a deep breath, Michael wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Hey," jesting Michael, pointing to all the sweat on his muscular torso, "Just so you know, I'm not sweating, I'm glistening."

The other guy's response was to look down but not before Michael spotted the beginning of a smile forming on his lips.

Then ignoring Michael, his roommate got up and was doing his own version of exercise. He twisted this way and that before reaching in back of himself to rub his back. As he struggled to reach his backside, a grimace was plastered on his face. Michael then realized the man wasn't stretching for the sake of exercising, he was obviously in pain.

"Your back hurts?" Michael asked him.

The man stared at him.

Michael pointed at his back and then made a hurt expression, "Hurt, no?"

The man gave no reaction, but instead twisted away.

"Have you tried Shiatsu?" Michael asked.

The man pretended not to hear as he now turned his body the other way.

Michael knew the man heard everything he was saying so he said, "If you want to feel better, you'll have to communicate with me. I know you can at least hear me, and I assume you can speak English, too."

The man froze mid-twist, seemingly indecisive about how to handle the situation. At last he turned his head sideways to look at Michael. When he spoke his voice was very deep and a little loud.

"You knew this of me, I figured," he spoke with a slight Middle Eastern accent, "that trick you played before with the rat supposedly in my cot…that is, very clever, I would say."

Michael acknowledged with a nod. He had already figured out that the man was sent here to insure that Michael did not escape.

"It must be difficult to play deaf when you want to hear so much," Michael remarked.

Surprisingly the man smiled. He, too, sat on the floor, resting his back against his cot so that he was directly facing Michael.

"Dah, that is so," he admitted, "but I make one point very clear to you...we may be friendly, but we may not be friends… I will not help you in any way."

"I did not ask that of you nor was I expecting that of you," countered Michael.

When the man looked at Michael, there was a look of mistrust in his eyes, "Westen, I have heard of you. You are a spy that no like to play by rules. I will watch you carefully."

"You talk as if you expect me to do something unusual in here," Michael stated, trying to get a feel for this guy.

The man paused before he bluntly responded, "If you have ideas of escape, you can not think of such nonsense. You do not understand how...how _revenge_ these people are. They are how you call, very ruthless."

Michael nonchalantly looked about the room, "Perhaps."

"It is best for you," the man theorized, "to stay here and do as they want. Perhaps you may live. They make impossible for you to escape. Too many of them all around."

"But in a way, I have already escaped," Michael calmly stated, "thanks to them, I have escaped from the ordinary."

The man grunted, but it was in a pleasant way. When he looked up, his eyes looked brighter.

"You Americans make the funny joke all the time...but I tell you truthfully I like that!"

But before long his expression became solemn again. Michael figured the longer he kept the man talking, the more information he might retrieve to help him escape.

_Spies always figured that if there were an official spy manual, the first words should be: trust no one._

"Even if I _do_ plan to escape," Michael theorized, "I figure it's best I don't tell you, am I correct?"

The man nodded, "Dah. And that it is the way it should be."

There was silence, but Michael was not ready to end the talk. Perhaps just change the subject. It would be good to stay on good terms with the only friendly contact he has had since being held captive.

"You know my name, but I am afraid I don't know yours," Michael began.

The man sat up proudly, "I am Dhimitri Rugova!"

"From what country is your homeland?" Michael asked.

Rugova placed his hand patriotically over his heart, "I come from the country of Hajidistan!"

Michael nodded, "Harsh weather in that country, " he then pointed to Rugova's back, "I suppose that was where your back started acting up."

Rugova eyed Michael suspiciously, "You do not know of my country! It has much beauty all around!"

"I did not say the country lacked beauty," Michael clarified, " I'm saying the cold and dampness of the air is not good for one's body. Perhaps I can relieve some of the stress of your nerves."

Rugova peered distrustingly Michael's way, not knowing what to make of Michael's last statement. Obviously if Westen figured that he, Dhimitri, faked his deafness, Westen also probably figured out that Dhimitri was working for the other side. He had to be careful around Rugova.

"Take off your shirt," Michael uttered suddenly out of nowhere.

"What is this you say?"" Rugova; looked insulted as he held his arms protectively in front of him, " No, I not take off! I am not like that!"

Michael realized how he sounded,"No, no, I don't…no…it's not what you think! I want to massage you!"

"Is _that_ what you Americans call it now!" Rugova sounded offended.

Michael sighed, "Fine by me…if you don't want to feel better, it's on you!"

Turning away from Rugova, Michael began stretching again.

Rugova could still feel the pain throbbing in his back, "Okay, Westen…do not dismiss me so quickly…tell me what you will do, this massage...but I keep shirt _on_!"

_A spy wants to think he can handle a mission on his own, but the more allies he accumulates the better it will be for him._

"I will work on your back," Michael explained, "I plan to align the energy of your body using gentle pressure on specific points. For it to be more effective, you must remove your shirt. But that's fine if you are not interested. It's your choice."

Rugova looked anxious, "Just be sure you keep the gentle pressure _on my back_!"

Michael sighed, "I will. Just lie on your cot, stomach down, and shirt off."

"Again with the shirt!" complained Rugova.

"Do you want your back to feel better or not?" asked Michael impatiently.

Rugova eyed Michael speculatively as he slowly removed his shirt. Now shirtless, he looked down at his soft paunche in comparison to Michael's taut abdominal muscles.

"Amazing we are same species, right, Westen?" he joked.

Michael grinned, "Let's just say your muscles are very well protected and leave it at that."

He seemed more at ease now and did as Michael instructed by laying down on the cot.

Michael skillfully used localized finger pressure in a rhythmic sequence throughout Rugova's back. He held each point on the acupuncture meridians of Rugova's body for two to eight seconds in order for energy to flow throughout Rigova's body.

During the entire massage, Rugova's relaxed squeals and moans could be heard as his body regained balance.

"Just let me know if I had applied too much pressure," Michael stated as his hands were getting too tired, he was using his elbow, "I don't want to torture you. That method is reserved exclusively for the next room."

The only response Michael received was more delighted groans coming form Rugova.

Thank god Michael was somewhat knowledgeable with massages.

_At one point in their relationship, Fi had insisted that the two of them visit a Japanese masseur for several sessions. Later they practiced it on each other—in addition to other maneuvers, Michael thought with a wistful smile._

"Hey!" Rugova interrupted Michael's thoughts, "I don't like that smile you have on face! Do not smile like that if you touch me…you understand?"

Michael continued applying the pressure, but his hands were growing weary.

With all the noises Rugova had been making throughout the massage, the door suddenly burst opened and the agent assigned to guard duty rushed in.

The agent saw a shirtless. sweaty Michael hovering over a barebacked Rogova, and his eyes bugged out.

"Uh, no!" insisted Michael, "It's not what you think…"

Michael looked pleadingly at Rugova, "You know this guard, right? Tell him it's not what he thinks!"

Rugova looked out in front of him and remained silent, for he was supposedly deaf and mute.

The agent looked uncertain, "Uh…I guess, if there is no._.resistance_…I'll let you two be…"

Michael addressed the guard, "No, no, I'm done…Wait! Do you have an extra blanket? This man here must lie still for several minutes before getting up in order to appreciate the full effect."

The agent guard nodded understandably, "Yeah," he said, "That happens to me afterwards, too."

.

.

It was getting dark.

Sam, Fi and Roberto followed the directions Gideon Hunter had given them as to where they were holding Michael.

The coastal wetlands in Tampa Bay consist of a forest of mangrove trees and tidal salt marsh. The marshlands help to buffer storm surges, and provide fish and wildlife habitats.

Deep in the heart of the 15,000 acres of the forest was a row of secluded one story office buildings. The sign said it was an "Environmental Educational Center," but the inside of the rectangular building was used for more nefarious reasons.

The entire area was surrounded by a wire fence A heavy duty long chain blocked the entranceway with a sign on it that said "Private building, no trespassing."

Fi turned the car back around and then pulled off road, making sure the car was hidden from view from the front of the place.

The three of them sat in the car. Fi had explained what everyone needed to do in order to extract Michael from the building. Naturally, Fi's plan consisted of storming the building.

"I don't know if your plan will work, Fi," stated a doubtful Sam, "We have no idea how many bad guys are in there and they might be fully equipped with bazookas and tanks for all we know! I say we do a little recon first before we take drastic steps."

"No time, Sam! Michael is in there so we are going in _now_!" announced Fi, "After all, _Michael is your best friend and he is my boyfriend!_"

Sam looked at Fi, "That would be the answer to _And how do we know Michael, _not a plan on how to get him out!"

Fi's punched Sam hard in the arm.

"Ow!" said Sam, "Fi, lay off the steroid cereal and muscle-building milk, will ya?"

"No time for this, Amigos," interrupted Roberto, as he peered out the car window, "In fact, _never_ a time for this...So you tell me now the plan?"

"Sam and I can handle this," said Fi coolly, "You just stay in the car, out of sight."

"Que? What is this?" Roberto was completely confused, "Am I being punished, Senorita? Why it is like this?"

"Yeah, tell him why you are giving him the cold shoulder, Fi, "said Sam, "tell him so that he will know, then he can tell me."

Fi stared at Sam, "You know why, Sam."

"Uh, no Fi, I really don't know," admitted Sam, "I'm so confused... it's like I'm a chameleon in a bag of M & M's."

Fi turned to the backseat to address Roberto, "What am I to think, Roberto, when you are loading up a van in the middle of the night and then denying to me that it happened afterwards? What am I to think?"

Roberto looked surprised and then he solemnly shook his head, "Ah, mi Mujer Bonita! Is that is what this is about?"

"_You_ were the one who decided to be so secretive," Fi pointed out.

"You think you are the only one running covert missions, eh?" Roberto asked, "You have come to _my_ safehouse…a safehouse where I must hide key people from harm that may come to them…then you tell me that Gideon Hunter is free and after you, so I say ¡Mi dios! I must secretly transport two people away from here so he cannot find them…you see what I mean, no?"

Fi took in everything he said.

"And you couldn't tell me that earlier?" Fi asked.

"Senorita, I am sworn to secrecy," Roberto said, "I must protect the names and identities of people I harbor in the safehouse, you understand, okay? I am only doing my job."

Fi turned to Sam, "See? I told you there was nothing to worry about!"

Sam met her stare with one of his own, "What? What the hell, Fi? _You_ were the one who thought-"

"-I just don't understand why the road to Sam City is always under construction," Fi interrupted, as she looked stealthily forward.

Sam shook his head, "Women! They're crazy!"

"That's because men are ridiculous!" countered Fi.

"The main reason why men are ridiculous is because women are crazy!" summed up Sam.

"Okay, you two," piped in Roberto, "I have heard all this before and we need to begin this rescue before it's bedtime!"

Fi reached down below and got her forever reliable Mossberg 590 sniper rifle, "I'm ready."

.

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_(Please note, I made up the country of Hadijistan...I don't think a real middle Eastern country would want to be associated with this story! LOL)_

_Please review_


	19. Chapter 19

Needing a Rescue

Chapter 19

Fi, Sam and Roberto were in the middle of the Tampa Wetlands, where Mangrove trees grew high and thick. Gideon Hunter, aka_ The Butcher_ had given them precise directions as to where Michael was being held captive.

Sam could feel the humidity in the air as they began trekking towards the building in the middle of the marshlands.

"Only one thing worse than walking in the evening," Sam said, as he got out his handkerchief to wipe the wetness from his brow, "it's walking in the evening in the rain-forest_._"

"Not rain-forest, mi amigo; this called _wetlands_, " corrected Roberto as he trudged in the heat, "there is difference."

"Tomato, tomato. What's the difference?" Sam asked, "both places are full of tall trees and as humid as a sauna…_Crap_! It's so hot here, my sweat just started sweating!"

The humidity did not seem to bother Fi at all. She had determination written on her face. At one point she chose to stop walking and the two men also halted their steps.

"I'll go into hiding and be your cover while you two check the front of the building," Fi announced, her hand fingering her Mossberg.

"Oh? So we are the ones who get to be target practice?" asked Sam, "thanks a lot, Fi."

Fi turned to Sam, her eyes set with conviction.

"Well, Sam, you could be the one perched up on the tree, holding a Mossberg Rifle with scope," suggested Fi, "..but...oh... _wait_...you can't climb the tree because of your _poor leg, _can you?"

"Hey! Be sensitive about my leg! I'm devastated I've ruined my Olympic chances!" Sam responded.

"And which sport would you have entered, Sam?" Fi asked, "Curling?"

"I'll have you know, sister," said Sam trying to sound dignified, "that I've always been good at mopping my kitchen floor!"

Fi tried not to roll her eyes as she left Sam and Roberto to plan out their strategy.

"So what is our plan once we get to the building, Amigo?" Roberto asked as he got out his gun.

This may sound crazy," Sam stated, "but I propose we open the door and go inside. What do you think?"

"I think, mi amigo," Roberto said, "That you stopped to think, but forgot to start again."

As they approached the chain blocking the entrance, they merely lifted their legs over it, ignoring the "No Trespassing" sign. Mangrove trees were on either side of them. The road wasn't paved here, merely marshy dirt.

Sam and Roberto continued walking, their shoes made squishy sounds due to the saturated ground. Up ahead, through all the dense vegetation, the dilapidated one story building loomed ahead.

"Senorita Fiona is some woman," Roberto commented as they continued walking, "She have no fear."

Sam walked a ways before he answered, "Fi is strong and independent, but she's vulnerable in some areas, just like the rest of us."

Roberto looked at Sam, a big smile spread on his face, "Ah, I see! So you two do bickering on the outside, but inside, you two are muy simpatico!"

"Let's just put it this way," Sam analogized, "If I ever got in trouble, she would not be one of those annoying people who'll ask if there's anything they can do. Fi will already be doing something about it, and that _'it'_ would end up being shot or blown up to pieces, too!"

"Ahhh," Roberto nodded understandably, "Any friend that use explosives to help you is friend to keep!"

They walked up to a large tree and hid behind it.

Sam wiped some sweat from his brow as he felt the sweltering heat, "Man, I feel like putting a heater on my forehead just to cool off!"

"This is nothing in comparison to back home, mi amigo" Roberto said, referring to Mexico, "over there, when a dog chase a cat, they are both walking!"

Sam looked at his good friend, not sure if he was jesting or not.

From behind the tree Sam and Roberto observed any going ons from the building. It was still a distance away, but now they could clearly make out the structure with a line of shrubs surrounding it. No sign of people could be seen yet.

Roberto quietly pointed at a lone tree near the entrance of the building. A security camera was situated up in the branches of that tree. Another camera was aimed at the entrance.

"Do you see what I see?" Roberto inquired, his voice lowered.

"I see that," nodded Sam, "seems to me that's pretty strict security…for an abandoned building in the jungle."

" …Not jungle, _wetlands_," Roberto corrected Sam again. "So you think the camera already show we are here? Do you think there are many agents around?"

"Probably, " Sam said, taking in the area surrounding the building, "all I know is that we should never underestimate the power of stupid, bad people in numbers."

Roberto nudged Sam at the sound of a vehicle coming to them from the right, "Psst! Amigo! Looks like we have company!"

A black Cadillac Escalade pulled up to them. Sam and Roberto put away their weapons, so as not to seem threatening.

Two men in suits got out. One was a heavyset man in a brown suit with a crewcut and a big, angular face. The other had a gray suit and looked like Steven Segal with thick wavy hair and a ragged face. They walked right up to Sam and Roberto.

"Who are you two, and what are you doing on these premises?" demanded Crewcut, "This is private property. "

Segal Wannabe didn't say anything, but his folded arms let them know they weren't welcome.

Sam pointed to Steven Segal Wannabe, "So this is the only job you could get after your last direct-to-video movie?"

Segal Wannabe scowled, "What the hell you talking about?"

Roberto nodded, "Si! Yes! I get it! Steven Segal!" he grinned, as he turned to Segal Wannabe, "It's been downhill for you since 'Exit Wounds', no?"

Crewcut and Segal Wannabe exchanged glances. Crewcut reached in his jacket and produced a gun.

"Don't move, while my celebrity partner searches you," said Crewcut sarcastically.

Segal Wannabe patted down Roberto first and then Sam.

"Careful, there," warned Sam, "If I wanted someone groping me down there without looking at me, I'd be married."

The two criminal agents were able to find Sam and Roberto's weapons and took them as their own. Crewcut still had his gun trained on Sam and Roberto as Segal Wannabe grabbed Roberto's arm, "I think we should take a ride together."

Out of nowhere, there was the ringtone music with Barry Manilow singing "I Can't Smile Without You." Crewcut, Segal Wannabe and Roberto looked around, as if the song was magically coming from the air.

"Sorry, that's me…" " said an embarrassed Sam as he took out his phone.

"Really, my friend?" asked Roberto, "_Barry Manilow_?"

"Which part of 'sorry' didn't you understand?" Sam asked.

"And of all his songs you pick cheesiest one of all?" Roberto asked, "I mean, 'I Can't Smile Without You?"

"What can I say?" Sam said, "That song is a classic for all denture wearers."

"_Shut up and gimme that!_" Crewcut said as he grabbed the phone away from Sam.

"Good that you took the phone away," said Sam, "I saw the ID on the screen, and it's for the two of you, anyway."

The thugs thought Sam was kidding and just stared at him.

"Go ahead," Sam stated invitingly, "Just press the conference button."

With a frown, Segal Wannabe, looked at the display on the phone and pushed the correct button.

"Hey!" he spoke into the speaker, "Who the hell is this?"

A female voice stated loud and clear, _"Chrome, military style lettering with the engraved words CIA in white on black background."_

It was Fi, of course.

"Huh?" Segal Wannabe reacted, looking questionably at his partner who lifted his shoulders in a wondering gesture.

Fi spoke again.

"_I can see your belt buckle through my rifle scope, although I am aiming three inches lower…at a much smaller target…"_

Four pair of eyes dropped towards the guy's buckle, with Segal Wannabe looking bug-eyed.

"Mi Amigo," jested Roberto to Sam, "I not know what military style lettering look like until now!"

"Don't count that buckle as official," claimed Sam, as Roberto nodded knowingly, "I think it's a knock-off."

Segal Wannabe and Crewcut still looked puzzled at the cellphone.

"Ask her what she wants!" Crewcut demanded of Sam.

"_I can hear you, you know_," she said through the speaker, "_and what I want is for both of you to have a better sense of fashion," _she drolly stated through the phone_, "Brown belts with black shoes? That is so last season."_

Roberto smiled as he turned to Sam and whispered, "Your friend Fi? She is not only beautiful but good eye for fashion, no?"

"Yeah, but don't underestimate her, Roberto, " Sam whispered back, "she can get crazy...and what I mean by that is, _bats in the belfry crazy_ when it comes to getting Michael back."

Roberto nodded knowingly once more.

.

.

_(Meanwhile inside the facility…)_

Michael was alone in the locked room for the past 20 minutes, for Rugova was taking bathroom privileges. As Michael was doing his sit ups, the door opened. The breakfast trays arrived and with them, Dimitri Rugova. Michael stood up.

Rugova grunted at Michael, but did not speak in the guard's presence. When the guard had left, slamming the door behind him, both prisoners grabbed their trays of bread, cheese and an apple along with a tin cup of water.

"Good morning," Rugova stated politely, as if they were at a soiree, not in a locked room, "I tell you something I know... tonight, Estes returns."

Michael scowled as he tasted his bread, "Who?"

Rugova ripped his cheese, "You do not know of this Cade Estes? He runs this whole operation."

So now the "General" had a name. Michael was grateful for that.

"What kind of operation?" Michael asked, "Drug trafficking, gun smuggling, murder?"

Rugova shrugged his shoulders, implying that it was all three, and perhaps more. "You name it, if it's illegal, he have done it. But do not knock it, my friend… Estes help make me very rich."

"Except, how do you sleep at nights?" Michael asked, as he took a bite of the apple.

Rugova ignored that question as he drank some water.

"So why did you tell me about Estes?" asked Michael.

"Simple," stated Rugova casually, howbeit, now in hushed tones, "I tell you so you might move up your escape plan. In return, I ask when you hit me with desk rock, you do not hit me here," he pointed to the back of his skull, "Old war wound here."

_So Rugova knew Michael had a hidden weapon._ Michael didn't show his surprise, although he was stunned, "Desk rock? You mean the paperweight? So you knew all along. You've searched my mattress while I was taking my bathroom break," Michael accused him.

"As a spy you must learn to trust no one," Rugova said adding, "I have learn that lesson myself…You must keep in mind that I will be in the search party that will hunt you down after you escape."

Michael thought about this and nodded, "Then I suppose I should hope not to get caught?"

Rugova's response was grave, "If they catch you, you may talk. This will not be good for me. I could not afford to let you survive. "

Michael knew what Rugova meant.

"So why did you not report me earlier?" Michael inquired, "Why even risk trying to help me?"

Rugova smiled, "When I first see you, I think, this man is too weak, he is useless. I had no expectations in your…how you say…_possibilities._I know your reputation, but I only see a badly wounded man. But now I think to myself _this_ _Westen is very resourceful._ You see me to be fraud. You help me to relieve pain. You have escape plan. Resourceful? Yes_,_ I see that now."

Michael nodded.

"Thank you," He responded appreciatively.

Rugova reciprocated with an understanding nod of his own, "So we will part ways soon. After rock hit my head, we no longer to be friends."

"And by you telling me about Estes, we are considered even," Mike surmised, "I guess now you can sleep at nights again."

"Yes, " he agreed, "…so now I can sleep at nights again..

_A spy learned long ago that friend and enemy can be one of the same. It's just a matter of timing._

They both heard a key being inserted in the lock. Looking towards the door, they saw the man Rugova identified as Estes enter with one of the other CIA suited men, who was there to remove the trays.

Upon entering, Rugova merely grunted and brought out a tattered, outdated magazine to look at in order to seem oblivious to what was happening. When the agent came over to take away the tray, Michael grabbed the tin cup that had been filled with water,

"If you don't mind," said Michael, "I haven't finished my water as of yet."

The other agent looked over at Estes who nodded that it was fine and the other agent took up the trays. Once that agent had left and locked the door, Estes turned to Michael.

"I have decided," announced Estes, "That while we are waiting for the appearance of Miss Fiona Glenanne-yes, I have been able to discovered her full identity...I will see what other information I can retrieve from you —over in the other room. "

Michael didn't know why, but the weaker of his two legs started throbbing, as if it had a memory of its own. Then he realized that his whole body was responding to Estes' voice, for his voice sounded reminded Michael of the torture he had suffered at the hands of evil, how that very voice threatened Michael that he may not walk out alive.

As Michael brought the tin cup to his lips, he could not keep the cup steady. His hand was trembling slightly. Then due to the shaky grip, the cup slipped from his hand and it hit the floor quickly and rolled away from him.

Rugova, playing his part, did not even look up at the clanging noise the cup made.

Estes smiled, knowing it was his comment that made Michael jittery, "Nervous, are you Westen? You have a reason to be...now, we can go cooperatively together, or I can force you to go in the next room. It is no matter to me."

Michael knew if he ever was to go willingly in that other room, he would never have the strength to make his escape.

"I choose to go of my own free will," Michael finally decided, "but just to let you know, I have eaten my entire dinner, so it the clean up may not be a pretty sight."

The smirk Estes had plastered on his face was now gone. He, unfortunately, had forgotten about that minor detail, "You are clever with your games of delay, Westen, yet you do have a point. Perhaps we should let your food settle a bit before we have our little 'chat'. I will be back in an hour"

Estes walked to the door and knocked. An anonymous agent entered, ready to do Estes' bidding.

"Pick up the cup and wipe the floor...Westen spilled a little water," Estes commanded, before exiting the room and the sound of the door being locked could be heard.

The assigned agent did not look happy as he wordlessly bent down to pick up the cup from the ground. And that's when Michael took action.

From behind his back, Michael took out the heavy paperweight and hit the guard as hard as he could on the back of his head in the most vulnerable area. The agent guard collapsed at once, falling to the ground like a pile of laundry.

After the guard was knocked out, Rugova looked up from his magazine at last and viewed the fallen body. His face was expressionless.

"What now?" Rugova asked evenly.

Michael plucked the key from the agents belt and put them in his pocket.

"I yell for the other guard to come and I will try my skill with the paperweight once more."

For some reason, that made Rugova grin.

"That will make you addicted to hitting _all_ men on head!" said Rugova, in his first attempt at humor.

Michael appreciated the jesting and smiled, "It may at that."

He watched Michael moving the fallen guard's arms around, "So what is happening now?"

"I'm arranging him in a more sprawled position…" Michael explained, although in his weakened state, it was hard for him to do it singlehandedly.

"Do you think you can help me?" Michael asked.

"No, I not help," Rugova shook his head, "Remember? I am here to overlook what you do."

"I should be grateful for the little things, I suppose, " responded Michael as sweat appeared on his forehead. Soon he finished rearranging the body to his satisfaction. He felt exhausted, but his adrenaline started to kick in. He had to hurry; he would not get a chance like this again.

He quickly went over to the door.

"Hey! _Hellooo_, somebody out there!" Michael yelled, "Come quickly!"

Footsteps could be heard and a key going into the lock. The door was pushed open and a guard entered. Michael was not strong enough to overpower a trained agent, but having a heavy object hitting an unsuspecting victim pretty much evened up the field.

The guard entered and looked at his colleague's body on the floor, "What happened here?"

"I think the guy...suffered some type of a heart attack!" Michael exclaimed as he pointed to the fallen body.

While the guard bent over to examine the body, Michael stepped forward and hit him hard with the paperweight. The guard also sank into a heap.

Rugova looked at Michael's handiwork, "You are quite fun to watch," he commented.

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_._

_This week's "Nate" episode was heartbreaking to watch. Hope this helped eased the sadness!_

_Please review_


	20. Chapter 20

Trouble

Chapter 20

At the CIA branch office in Miami, Agent Dani Pearce had been on the phone all morning and it was giving her a headache.

She had been working since dawn, trying to secure a team to rescue Westen. It had been tough going since Westen, officially, was not out on a mission. She had no idea how she was going to spin all of this with all their budget restrictions.

Hanging up the phone, she rubbed her temple. Looking up at her wall, her eyes fell on the calendar and she realized it had now been eight days since what she called the "Glenanne Mission" had erupted. Eight days was a long time for a simple courier mission. So much had happened.

She had been so sure it would be an easy in-out assignment. And now knowing what she knows now, she wondered whether or not it was right to send out an inexperienced Fiona Glenanne out on the field.

Sure, Fiona knew more about weapons than a whole SWAT platoon, but when it came to the world of espionage, what did she know? Agent Pearce was pretty sure Michael did not give a blow-by-blow account of all his spy missions to her.

Pearce had no idea why she gave so much thought to Fi and by extension, Michael and Sam. She had world affairs to deal with. Washington DC had her on speed dial regarding the situation in Peking.

But here she sat, fretting about Fi. She supposed part of why she worried so much was because she really did care what happened to her. Fiona Glenanne was definitely in a category to herself. And Pearce did not know how she would ever be able to look at Michael in the face again if something happened to Fi.

The phone rang and Pearce immediately picked up.

"Pearce here."

She listened to the short instructions.

"Good...I'll be right there," Pearce responded as she hung up. The helicopter was up and ready. As she stood up, she could hear the sound of footsteps heading towards her office.

"Dani, may I enter?" Guy Boysen appeared at the doorway.

"Guy," Dani greeted the Recruitment Director, "what brings you here?"

"Fiona Glenanne, of course," he said, to Pearce's detriment, "I haven't received updates as to the completion of her first assignment, so I'd thought I'd come personally to hear of her success on the mission before I put the finishing touches on her acceptance of employment."

Pearce gave her colleague a look of disdain.

"Is this your way of telling me 'I told you so', Guy?" she asked.

Boysen smiled smugly, "That little loose cannon is giving you all kinds of trouble, isn't she?"

Pearce had it. She had spent days and sleepless nights worrying about Fi and her cohorts. With much difficulty she had at last tracked them down. Until she sees them alive, she will not be able to relax. So why is she wasting her time here?

"The so-called 'Loose cannon' you are referring to has a name…Fiona Glenanne…she is a real _person!"_ Pearce said with slight animosity in her tone. She had grabbed her jacket and started to put it on.

"Oh, please, Dani," Boysen was not apologetic, "Don't make me seem like I don't care! I didn't want her out there to begin with! It's only upon your insistence that I pushed the paperwork through! I tried to tell you she was not right for the mission!"

"She is exactly what we needed!" Pearce defended her, "Her first time out, she had to deal with a multi car chase, a kidnapping of an agent and a gruesome murder! On top of that, she is bringing down CIA's most wanted criminal!"

Guy's expression fell, "What? I wasn't aware of all that? She has reported all that activity to you already? In only a week's time?" he looked stunned.

"Let's just say," Pearce stated, hating look incompetent, "that Agent Glenanne has, uh, left a trail of clues for us..."

But Boysen wasn't to be fooled.

"Then she hasn't reported in yet?" Boysen asked.

"I expect her to, shortly," Pearce countered, her head held high.

Boysen shook her head, "You are going to catch so much flak from all this Pearce! At least it's your head on the chopping block and not mine!"

Pearce reached down to grab her purse. She then looked annoyingly at Boysen as she headed for the door.

"I really don't have time to discuss _assumptions_ with you, Guy!" Pearce fired off, anger interlaced in her voice, "There is a rescue mission I am heading up and as it is, I won't be able to get my people to our target site by nightfall, so I am going to put it as succinctly and professionally to you as possible regarding what I am thinking: Guy, _jerk off!_"

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From inside his imprisoned room, Michael looked down at the crumpled forms of Estes and the guard. He was exhausted, but there was still work to be done. Michael took the keys and opened the door of the room. He stuck his head out and peered out left and then right. No sign of anyone in sight. But he was a long way from getting his freedom

"So what happens now?" Rugova asked composedly when Michael returned to look at the fallen bodies again.

"I guess I'll find some rope to tie them up," Michael responded, wondering where he would find some. Perhaps he could tear up some bedsheets, although he knew he didn't have the strength to and Rugova certainly would not help him.

"So you expect that this rope to magically appear?" Rugova asked, looking all around the room.

A female voice spoke out from behind them.

"Will this do?"

Both men turned towards the now opened doorway. Fi stood there, a rope casually dangling from her hand. For a second, he almost thought his imagination was playing games with him, like it had when he was being interrogated. But the longer he stared at her, the more vivid the image seemed to be.

"Michael," She stood there, staring at Michael, her green eyes sparkling, yet dark with desperate yearning.

"Fi…" Michael's throat felt as if someone were stretching his neck on a rack. He was having difficulty breathing air into his lungs.

"I found rope this in one of the drawers outside after I knocked out one of the guards...or was it two?" Fi explained in the same casual tone someone else might use to say, _I took a stroll in the park._

"My God," sighed Rugova, as he eyed Fi, "An Angel has come down to rescue you, Westen…a beautiful angel!"

Michael's mouth tipped at one corner of his mouth at her presence, "That is exactly who she is…my sweet, guardian angel with the massive Mossberg assault rifle."

"Yes," nodded Rugova as he continued watching her, "I think all Angels should have one of these sniper rifles strapped to their wings."

By now, Fi had walked inside the room now.

"The CIA has come to rescue you…" she stated proudly.

"The...the...CIA?" he questioned, trying to look behind her for reinforcements.

"Yes, that's me...agent Glenanne," she announced, her voice somehow sounding seductive.

"You're CIA." Michael said it like a statement, but it was more a question.

"The one and only."

Michael didn't understand what she meant, but he really didn't care. All he knew was that she was _here_. His gaze was warm with affection when she came into his opened arms. He looked deeply into her eyes and it seemed as if her eyes were warming his face and her smile was wrapping around him like a hug.

"Fi," he said gently, "I've missed you so much."

His words made her heart skip a beat.

"Michael, any chance at all that in the future you could stay out of trouble so I don't have to take time out of my mission to rescue you?"

She felt so good in his embrace. Before he knew it, he bent his head towards her for a welcome kiss. Fi's breath snagged in her throat when his lips touched hers. The fluttery feeling in her stomach turned hot and stormy, excitement ribboning from the center of her body and a shiver ran up her spine.

A noise behind them broke their embrace as Rugova cleared his voice. Michael jerked his head up as Fi looked around Michael at the other male in the room.

"Maybe it will be best you tie me up and you leave before others come." Rugova announced to them.

Fi looked questionably at Rugova, "He is one of _us_, Michael?"

Michael stared directly at Rugova, "Not quite, Fi…in fact, earlier today he had been gone so long, I do believe he is the one who called Estes to come back."

Rugova didn't deny it as he shrugged his shoulders, "As I have told you before, trust no one."

"Then I suppose we should knock him out," announced Fi, "And if you prefer, Michael, I can easily do the honors."

She then turned to Rugova, "I hope my knocking you out cold will not ruin the rest of your day."

Rugova's eyes got slightly rounder as Fi whipped out her Mossberg, readying to use it like a bat.

"No, that's not necessary," Michael said to Fi, "Let him be, Fi. He, like us, was only doing his job."

Fi looked questionably at Michael, "And here I thought being a spy would give me carte blanche to knock out or shoot anyone I please without repercussions."

"No, hopefully, it'll just make you smarter over whom you choose to hit or shoot," Michael announced.

Rugova pointed to the weapon strapped on Fi's back, "You any good firing that weapon, Angel?"

Fi held her head up high.

"Let's just say," said Fi, "I treat each shotgun magazine as if it were my last one."

Rugova nodded, "This one is a keeper, Westen."

"Glad you approve, maybe now I can invite her to the prom, " Michael stated sardonically, "but right now, there are other things we need to get done, such as you to play dead when the other guards arrive."

"Yes, I will do that," Rugova promised, "but do not consider yourself safe yet."

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Earlier with Fi's threats, Sam and Roberto had been able to disarm Crewcut and Segal Wannabe, gag them and handcuff them to the car.

Then Sam and Roberto continued walking. There was still weak daylight, but the sun was starting to set. It would be dark soon.

"I don't like this, Amigo," stated Roberto, looking cautiously about, "we've got two bad guys that know we are here and now that security camera will alert all inside of our presence…unless…. perhaps that camera is not real…could we hope for that?"

"That camera is definitely real," said Sam, "A prop would be more in plain sight. And as far as those two clowns we left behind, they are lucky Fi didn't shoot them. Knowing her, she's probably already skedaddled down the tree, snuck inside the building and rescued Michael herself!"

Roberto looked surprised, "You think she did all that in this short time?"

"You know how you can feel the little hairs on your neck standing up when you feel fear?" Sam asked.

"Si, " Roberto agreed, "and?"

"And…I don't feel the hairs standing up…" Sam theorized, "By my best estimation only about a dozen of them are standing up but that's because we are facing the unknown. The others are still down because I figured that meant Fi already took care of those men in the building there without alerting others."

They had reached the door to the building. Everything appeared calm and quiet.. Sam almost expected to be electrocuted or something when he touched the door. Nothing happened. They walked right into the building, not knowing what they would find.

Like a typical office building in the center of the city, this place also had a receptionist desk in the lobby. Except behind this desk was a series of security cameras and an imposing person in a suit, who looked like he wrestled alligators for a living.

The Alligator-wrestler scowled, "Why are you here? What do you two want?"

Sam leaned his elbow on the counter, "What's the matter, buddy? Did you missed the class on customer service?"

The guy's expression remained placid, although Sam and Roberto could see the guy reaching for the phone. Sam reached over and placed his hand over the Alligator-wrestler's hand.

"I wouldn't call for backup if I were you," warned Sam, "because I know the others will be just as ugly as you."

"Who are you two?" he asked again in an unfriendly tone.

"It's a long story," Sam began, "Oh wait! It isn't! We just came to get our friend, Michael Westen."

The Alligator-wrestler stared at the two men, "I assure you, I don't know what you mean, but let me make a call."

Sam removed his hand as the guy picked up the phone, but something didn't look right. It took Sam a split second to figure it out. Alligator-wrestler had picked up the phone receiver with his _left _hand. Most people were right handed. Sure enough his right hand seemed to be reaching for something down below.

The last hairs on Sam's neck stood straight up.

Sam turned to Roberto, "Run!" he yelled to a confused Roberto, "Run like your life depended on it, because it does!"

The door off to the side suddenly opened and five more agents started running out to the lobby, guns drawn.

They also noted that Alligator-wrestler had produced a gun from under the counter.

Roberto and Sam took off.

Due to their quick reactions, Sam and Roberto made it out the door and then they quickly covered their heads just as they heard a barrage of gunfire and the burst of broken glass exploding behind them.

Still running, Sam looked behind him. The men chasing them were outside now. He and Roberto needed protection, they needed to find a place to hide,

"Run for the woods, buddy!" suggested Sam, as sprinted away from the builiding.

"Wetlands!" Roberto shouted back while heaving, " ...they are called "wetlaaaannnds!"

They ran towards the trees and dark, distancing themselves from the building. As they continued running, they heard car doors opening and closing. Tires shrieked as cars came roaring up from the back of the building.

"Keep running, Roberto!" Sam encouraged, huffing and puffing, "it makes the ground feel needed!"

There was another burst of gunfire.

Roberto was having trouble breathing, "I think...amigo...we separate...to...confuse them!"

The two split as they continued to hear random barrages of bullets. Sam didn't look back to see where they were coming from, Sam hid behind a mangrove tree. He looked out and could see Roberto still in view.

There were not many places for cover in a large empty space that Roberto ran to, and Sam could see Roberto looking left and right, trying to find any safe haven from the CIA thugs.

_Hide_, Roberto, Sam willed him.

More gunfire erupted.

Nooooo! Sam yelled in his head as he watched Roberto go down.

Damn it! Sam thought of going to Roberto's rescue, but he was too far away. Two men were very close to him on the right. A car skidded to a halt nearby and one of them walked right up to where Roberto was laid out. He then peered into the darkness, presumably looking for Sam.

"Come on out!" he yelled, "We've got your friend!"

Sam peeked out from behind the tree and saw the imposing figure standing right above Roberto's fallen body.

Cade Estes made a big show of aiming the gun at Roberto, who was still down on the ground. Roberto didn't seem to be moving, and from Sam's angle, he couldn't tell if Roberto was even still alive. Sam forced himself to stay put, for revealing himself would mean certain death.

For a moment the firing had ceased.

Then Estes yelled out, "_Show yourselves or your friend will die a slow painful death."_

From behind the tree, Sam felt helpless. He dug in his pocket and got out his phone. Where the hell was Fi? He let out double the amount of expletives under his breath when he noticed his phone had no signal.

"Last chance! I will begin by shooting his knees!" Estes called out.

From down on the ground, a weakened Roberto could be heard saying, "Don't do it, Amigo! He will only kill both of us!"

Estes pointed the gun down. A single bullet blast exploded through the night air.

Roberto screamed in agony.

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_Please review_


	21. Chapter 21

The Rescue

Chapter 21

Inside the walls of the building, before all the gunfire had erupted, Michael felt elated with seeing Fi again.

It seemed to have been a lifetime since he had been with her. He held her in his arms now, and she was looking up at him, with love in her eyes. Tracing the delicate features of her face, his thoughts were only of her sweet body pressed against him.

"Come on, Michael, let's go," Fi said softly.

"I'll need some help," Michael hated to admit that, but he felt exhausted already.

He swung one arm over her shoulder as she helped him walk out of the room and down the hallway.

But unfortunately, despite his happy thoughts, his mind could not stop working and he could not push away the comments she made about her working for the CIA.

"Fi," asked Michael gently, as he walked unevenly, "Why? Why would you want to join the CIA?"

The minute he said the words he wanted to take them back. He felt rising panic within himself as he watched Fi stop to look at him.

"Fine thing to say to me now, Michael… after I rescued you!" Fi responded, every inflection in her voice throbbing with a rush of irritation.

Usually this was where Michael would back down and apologize, but not this time. After all, he would not even be in this mess if Fi had not decided to go out on her own without even consulting him. Michael had kicked, punched and pummeled his way into the spy business only to be served a burn notice and he wasn't going to let Fi suffer the same fate.

"Fi," he tried to say gently as he held her, "I just don't think the CIA may be the best fit for you."

And here we go, thought Michael.

"Oh, but it's the best fit for you?" Fi was almost breathing fire, "and how did they reward you for your loyalty? with a burn notice!"

"So of course, that makes you joining the CIA oh, so desirable!" Michael pointed out. He kept telling himself to let the conversation go, but he wanted to make his point what being an agent really entailed.

"If it means I could spend more time with you, yes!" she countered,"because at this point, we are never in the same room until you need me for a mission, that is!"

"I can handle myself!" Michael declared.

"Like now, as I help you out of the room?" Fi retaliated.

"Actually, Fi, did you see the two bodies I laid out flat on the floor back there?" Michael pointed back to the previous locked room, "Even in the condition I am in, I can more than handle myself. I was ready to escape on my own!"

"Really now?" Fi sarcastically said, "And how would you have handled all the agents surrounding this place? Probably would have been shot! But thanks to me and Sam, we have managed to break in and rescue you!"

Suddenly they threw agonized looks at each other.

"Sam!" they both yelled out in unison.

At the same time, they suddenly heard a series of gunfire and shouting coming from the inside.

Fi practically pushed Michael away from her, "I have to get out there!" she stated, "Sam and Roberto needs me!"

Michael didn't know who Roberto was, but he knew time was of the essence. He also knew he would be a hindrance if he accompanied her. He hated to send her out where there was gunfire, but he couldn't let his best friend be harmed either. He knew Sam would have a fighting chance with Fi and her Mossberg with thermal scope.

"Go Fi!" he said hurridly, "but come back for me."

Fi gave him one more look and her expression softened for a split second, "I will always come back for you, Michael," she stated and then she was gone.

Michael had no choice but to slowly make his way back to the room with Rugova. At Michael's entrance, Rugova had looked up in fear but his face relaxed when he saw it was Michael.

"She is gone? Your Angel?" he asked.

"She has others she must save," Michael responded, bothered that he could do nothing to help. He hated not being part of the action, but he knew he just needed to keep safe until she returned back to him.

He now regretted expressing his doubt about her joining the CIA. Where was his gratefulness? And why was it okay that he was a spy and not her? She has certainly proven her spy abilities with one mission after another. He now wished he could take back some of what he said, "Rugova, I told her I didn't like that she wanted to join the CIA…I blew it didn't I?"

"You do not want someone like her to be spy?" Rugova asked, "Why is that?"

Michael looked over to Rugova, shrugged and tried to act casual, "You don't know Fi….she hates paperwork."

Rugova shook his head and chuckle.

"Yes, I can see paperwork and her not so good, "Rugova noted, "but out there where it counts, she can handle herself very good."

"Yes, Fi is very capable," agreed Michael proudly, "She will get things accomplished."

Rugova nodded.

"She may be a handful, Westen," said Rugova, "but well worth the trouble, I think."

"Well worth it." Michael acknowledged as he looked out the door to where she last stood.

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Estes was hovering over a fallen Roberto, a gun pointed to him. When Estes fired, Roberto had screamed out in pain.

Sam wanted to yell out his friend's name but he could not reveal his hiding spot. If it did, it would be over for Michael and Fi as well as him.

"One more chance... you better reveal yourself!"Estes screamed as he pointed the gun at the already-shot Roberto. Roberto was whimpering now. From behind the tree, Sam closed his eyes and tried to wish it away. He needed to think.

Where the hell was Fi?

"Mi Amigo," Roberto tried to yell out but his voice faded at the end, "Don't…listen to him!"

"I have shot out his knee!" announced Estes, "And if you don't come out, I will shoot the other knee!"

"Save yourself... Amigo," shouted out Roberto, heavily breathing with his voice sounding weaker.

Sam put his hands above his head and was about to come out when he heard another gunshot that made him jump out of his skin.

There was another agonized scream from Roberto. Sam felt his insides being ripped apart as he backed behind the tree again. Sam could hear the sound of men all around him, but could not see their positions, due to the darkness. It sounded as if there were many of them. His location would eventually be found out soon.

Formulating a plan, Sam reached down and found a loose big rock.

"I have a knife here," claimed Estes, "And I will cut out your friend's eye next!"

_Crap._ Sam thought, breaking out in a heavy sweat. He heaved the rock as hard as he could away from where he was hiding. The rock landed in some empty grass-filled empty lot with the tool shed.

Estes was momentarily distracted as his head turned towards the sound, "He's over by the shed!" he shouted to his men.

Four men scurried in that direction towards where the rock landed.

Sam didn't wait. He threw another rock that way and then limped quickly away from the tree. The darkness cloaked his movement and he made it to the side of the office building. It was getting even darker, which would work in his favor. Time was everything now, but Sam knew he had to save Roberto if he could. If it wasn't too late, that is.

Sam then threw another rock in another direction. Yeow! he murmured to himself as he almost yanked his shoulder from his socket.

Darkness had descended completely on the area. Sam could hear the someone shouting directions but could not figure out where any of the bad guys were. The voices sounded scattered as they tried to regroup. Confusion had set in.

Sam wasn't ready to show himself as of yet.

"I will take out your friend's eye _now_!"

"No!" Roberto shrieked.

As Sam peeked out from the side of the building, he could make out the back of the leader standing over the fallen form of Roberto. Sam was still sixty yards away.

The leader was now hovering over Roberto and Roberto seemed to be begging, but his voice was too soft to hear.

Oh, to hell with it all, Sam thought, not caring whether or not he became an open target as he limped quickly, showing himself in order to protect his friend. He could hear some smatterings of gunshot the moment he revealed himself.

Divine intervention must have been on Sam's side for all the shots had missed so far. Sam was able to limp quickly towards the leader. The closer he got to the leader, the better chance that there would be less shots fired his way, for his men would not want to hit their leader.

Sam was maybe three steps away when he heard someone shout out a warning to the leader. Estes turned and saw Sam, who was still a good 15 yards away.

In one hand Estes had a knife. In the other, he had a gun.

"Stop the firing!" he yelled to his men, "He's all mine!"

The words did not faze Sam; all he could think about was saving Roberto. Estes had a big smile and raised his gun right between Sam's eyes.

Sam saw the calmness in the man's demeanor and knew he would not miss. Sam would try for one last final leap. But right before Estes pulled the trigger, Sam heard what sounded like an explosion.

Everything happened so fast. The leader's chest was oozing blood as he went down. When he fell, Sam looked over and saw Harry Grant, holding the gun that had killed Estes.

"Tell me the direction of Agent Nut!" Harry Grant insisted to an open mouthed Sam, "I don't want her to shoot me in the back!"

"Her presence is the least of your concerns!" Sam shouted back, "Run for cover while you still can!"

Harry didn't need a second invitation as he dashed away. The barrage of gunfire began again.

Sam was too concerned with Roberto's condition. He rolled to the ground and used Estes' dead body as a shield for him and Roberto.

_You know you're having a bad day where there is a dead body on top of you_, Sam disgustedly thought to himself. With much effort he was able to wriggle around in order to check Roberto's vitals. Roberto was alive, but barely.

Then Sam heard a new set of gunshots, the kind that came out of a Mossberg.

_Fi_

Estes' men were running in all directions as they were methodically being gunned down. Some fired back. but they only shot randomly in the blackness of the night. One by one the bodies of Estes' men fell.

When no shots were being fired at him any longer, Sam flung Estes' body away from him. Sounds of sirens could be heard in the near distance. One dark official SUV vehicle came roaring up and drove through the gate, crushing it beneath its tires, followed by two more.

Then Sam heard another welcoming sound. From up above, a helicopter was hovering near him, so close to him that his clothes and hair blew incessantly due to the whirling blades.

_Whup-whup-whup-whup-whup-w__hup-whup-whup-whup-whup..._

It landed at last, its engines noisy and the blades continually rotating,

Agent Pearce hopped out of the helicopter came, fully equipped with her bulletproof vest. But the safety equipment was not necessary for the gunfire had already ceased. Fi had seen to that.

When Sam stood u,p he looked with relief as he could see a tired Michael and and a dark haired man emerge from the building. An exhausted Michael had his arm slung around the other man's. It was hard to see in the darkness of the night, but Sam could make out Michael giving a weary wave. When Michael was almost to Sam, he gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

By then, Fi had also joined them.

"Sam!" Fi said concernedly when she saw all the blood on Sam, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," Sam said before pointing downward, "but Roberto's in a bad way."

"We've got this handled," stated Pearce as she signaled the medivac helicopter people. Pearce could not hide the smile at the sight of Michael, Sam and Fi safe and sound.

"There's also four unconscious men in the main building," Fi stated, pointing backwards, "That handiwork was done by Michael and me."

"...and you've done quite a bit of damage out here, too," Pearce stated to Fi, as she gestured towards all the fallen bodies.

"Truly like shooting fish in a barrel, only much easier and double the fun_,_" Fi stated, looking quite pleased.

The emergency workers from the helicopter came with a stretcher and carefully placed Roberto on it so that he could be airlifted to the nearest hospital.

"Hey, you CIA hospital people?" Rugova asked Pearce and the two agents next to her, pointing to Michael, "Because this man need help, too."

All turned towards an exhausted Michael.

"It's nothing, really," said Michael attempting a brave smile, "nothing a little rest won't cure."

"No, Michael, you go," insisted Fi gesturing towards the helicopter, "I'll visit you soon."

Michael hoped it wasn't her excuse to get rid of him. He looked desperately at her, "Fi, we're good, right?"

He asked so softly, so reverently. It caused her to stand slightly closer to him as if drawn to him by a magnetic force. Her hand then unexpectedly reached up and touched the side of his face, her fingers curving over his cheek, her thumb intimately brushing the corner of his mouth. The gentle touch sent Michael's pulse racing.

"Michael, we're always good," she assured him.

_Whup-whup-whup-whup-whup-w__hup-whup-whup-whup-whup..._

"Go…go!" Pearce interrupted their moment as she pointed, "before the 'copter takes off without any of you in it!"

The workers had finished strapping Roberto in and just before they put him in the helicopter, Fi came over and touched a hand to Roberto's hand. Looking down his covered body, she could see blood seeping through the blanket. Roberto was covered in sweat.

"Roberto, I'm so sorry," Fi stated as she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, "Thank you for helping to save Michael and Sam."

Despite his pain, Roberto smiled, "Ah, my beautiful Amiga," he tiredly pointed to his body, "All of this is just blood and flesh, but I like to think it is held together by a glue called friendship, yes?"

"Yes," Fi's voice was soft.

Then the Medivac loaded Roberto inside the helicopter. Meanwhile, Sam had gone up to the helicopter pilot and gave a proud salute.

The helicopter pilot reciprocated. He then gave Sam a quick lookover, "Looks like we should take a look at that leg of yours, too, soldier."

"Permission to board aircraft, Sir," said Sam, respectfully.

"Permission granted, " the helicopter pilot acknowledged.

"Please don't baby him," warned Fi, "before you know it, he'll insist on a hospital wing all to himself."

"Not quite, Fi" Sam stated, "all I ask is one bed in a tiny room, along with a pretty nurse."

_Typical Sam_.

"Just _go_, " she waved him away, trying not to show any emotions, "before I slap your injured leg again."

Sam smiled and lightly placed his hand on her shoulder, "Thanks, Fi, I just hope I won't take a turn for the nurse!"

She watched Sam limp into the helicopter while Rugova brought an injured Michael over. Rugova had paused so that Michael and Fi could have their last goodbye before they meet up again at the hospital.

"Fi…" Michael spoke, as a smile played on his lips, "you can be my back up agent anytime."

Fi actually blushed as she looked appreciatively at Michael.

"That is the romantic thing anyone has ever said to me, Michael."

"I love you, Fi," he said tenderly.

Fi's eyes were shimmering, "..Go now Michael...they'll take good care of you at the hospital, and I'll come for you as soon as I help clean up here."

He flashed her a meaningful smile, " It'll be a fast checkup, I promise. I need to be with you, Fi. "

"Just tell them you only hurt from the toes down," Fi suggested.

He loved her so much, "I promise I will."

Fi didn't know why, but she had to blink back tears as Michael slowly walked away, aided by his new friend.

Michael, Roberto, and Sam were all boarded safely the aircraft. Dust flew up from seemingly from nowhere as the helicopter lifted off.

_Whup-whup-whup-whup-whup-w__hup-whup-whup-whup-whup..._

Whirling winds whipped her hair and clothes as the helicopter ascended. Fi brought her hand up to shield the sun from her eyes and watched the helicopter until it disappeared in the skies.

Meanwhile Pearce and her agents were already securing the grounds, a very easy chore thanks to Fi's targeting skills.

Pearce then turned to Fi. Relief washed over her face.

"That was some pretty good shooting you did there, Fiona," Pearce complimented.

Fi shrugged nonchalantly, "I can't help it if bad agents stand where I plan to shoot."

Pearce couldn't help it. She gave one of her rare smiles.

"Well, tourist Faith Armstrong," Pearce said, "Our work seems to be done here."

"Strong," Fi said to her.

This caused Pearce to look puzzled, "Excuse me? Did you say _strong _again?"

"Strong first name, remember?" Fi reminded her, "I like the name Zara."

At this point, Pearce thought that if Fi had wanted the name Spottymaple Treblewood, she would have approved.

"Zara, eh?" Pearce pretended to be mulling it over in her mind, "Zara Armstrong? Not bad…anything else I can do for you, Agent Glenanne?"

"One more thing," said Fi calmly, as she held out a reminder finger, "Can you direct me to the nearest nail salon? I think with all the shooting I had to do, I've managed to chip a nail."

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_Please review_

_Last chapter coming up!_


	22. Chapter 22

No Hidden Fi

Chapter 22

Fi sat in Pearce's office, facing her from across the desk.

Pearce was updating Fi as to the status of the mission. Roberto was still in the hospital, but he would eventually be fine. Sam leg had been set and was healing well. Michael had been evaluated and sent home. All the rogue CIA agents had been rounded up—those that were still alive, that is—pending trial.

And Gideon Hunter, aka The Butcher was safely back in jail, satisfying both sides. The CIA had retrieved _The Great Gatsby_ book among his possession, but unfortunately, no microfilm had been recovered inside of it.

"Congratulations on your completed mission, Fiona," Pearce announced, "You've really gone above and beyond our expectations."

"I suppose," Fi sighed.

Uh-oh.

"Anything the matter, Agent Glenanne?" Pearce would keep it professional.

Fi sounded a little disappointed, "It's just...although Hunter is where he belongs, I didn't quite complete my mission, did I?"

"Missions never run smoothly," Pearce was already thinking of her next appointment as she looked at her watch.

"Yes, I know but it's just that I was not the one who got hold of that Great Gatsby book," Fi sighed again, "Hunter just turned it in, like it was a library book or something."

No time for this, thought Pearce.

"It's the end result that counts," she pointed out.

For you, maybe," Fi thought outloud, "But I just...felt I wasn't successful in my first mission."

"Look at it this way," Pearce comforted, "Be grateful that you were able to utilize your shooting skills."

Fi perked up slightly,"yes, I suppose I did use a fair amount of gunfire, didn't I?"

"You did at that!" Pearce smiled

Sometimes Pearce knew just the right thing to say.

"Anyway," Pearce continued, "I know you are anxious to get out of here, so I won't keep you long. We just need to have an account of this mission on tape."

"I won't ever forget any experience where there is shooting involved," claimed Fi.

"…Nevertheless, "Pearce continued, electing to ignore the interruption, "we need to immortalize this on tape. We want to make it official."

"It was official the minute I pulled out my assault rifle," Fi nonchalantly stated.

"…_and_ this is the perfect time to buzz Tom in with the recorder!" announced Pearce, quickly as her assistant, Tom Wright walked in with the recorder and placed it on Pearce's desk.

"Hello, Miss Glenanne," Tom looked at her admirably, "I must say, we've been excitedly following all your activities…your file doesn't do you justice!… I hope the tape recorder won't make you feel too self-conscious?"

"No, not unless it can shoot out bullets," said Fi.

"_And_ look, the recorder is _on_," reminded Pearce, as she pushed the button.

Pearce then gave a half hearted smile to Fi, "Now, Fiona, let's begin with your account of when you spotted Gideon Hunter."

"The first time was at the square," Fi recalled, "that's when I got separated from Sam, who was the sex tour guide,"

"W-what?" Pearce asked, as she quickly reached over and turned off the recorder.

"Yes…at the church…" Fi said as if that was perfectly normal.

Fi then reached over and pressed the "on" button; Pearce turned it "off".

"Wait…Sam was a sex tour guide—inside a church?" Pearce looked questionably at Fi.

"No, of course not inside the church!" Fi answered much to Pearce's relief, "that would be sacrilegious! He just talked about sex on the stairs."

"Agent Glenanne," Pearce tried to stay compose, "Please keep to details that pertain only _to the mission_. And have it coherent so it makes sense."

"So only about the mission?" Fi blinked quickly.

"Yes. Short but precise."

Fi nodded. Pearce turned back on the recorder.

"Tell us about your mission, Agent Glenanne.

Fi looked up at the ceiling to think, "Simply put, then, my mission was to get a book and at the end, I was able to use my Mossberg pump action shotgun."

Then she reached over and turned the recorder "off", a look of satisfaction on her face.

Pearce stared evenly at her_,_ "Agent Glenanne, your narration needs work."

"Too many details?" Fi asked, "Perhaps I should give you the short version."

"The short ver-…uh, let's take a pause here...perhaps we are going about this all wrong," Pearce said, giving up on the recorder, electing to memorize everything instead.

"Not _we_ are going about this all wrong," claimed Fi, "For I am rarely wrong."

Pearce rubbed her temples.

"You seem to need a break, Agent Pearce," Fi observed, a concerned look on her face.

"I need something," admitted Pearce, as she reached in her drawer and produced two aspirins. She thought better and added another aspirin to her hand.

"Agent Pearce, let me ask _you_ a question…" Fiona began.

Pearce sighed. She took her medication with water and then added one more to what she had already taken, "Whatever could it be, Fiona?"

"I've noticed you've carefully avoided discussing the part of my mission regarding Nemo's Bookstore. Any reason for that? Whatever happened to Agent Benjamin McGrath?"

Pearce and assistant Tom exchanged nervous glances. They had felt there was no need to mention Agent McGrath to Fi, but now they would have to explain.

"I'm sorry you had asked about Agent McGrath," remarked Pearce, "Not everything turned out happy in this mission. Unfortunately. He is dead. Agent McGrath was murdered on the seventeenth of June. We suspect it was Hunter, but that point is moot being that Hunter is already spending the rest of his life in prison."

For the first time Fi looked bothered, "That is very sad news."

Pearce nodded sadly, "Fortunes of war, I'm afraid. All our agents know the risk."

"Agent McGrath was a good man," Fi reminisced, "For a time at the bookstore, I had actually bonded with him, you know."

With Fi's last words, Agent Pearce suddenly became very still. Quickly she turned the recorder back to 'on'.

"Fiona, " Pearce had to work to compose herself, "how could you have possibly bonded with Benjamin McGrath when you had never met him?"

Fi had forgotten the small fact that she had not exactly followed orders and had met up with McGrath the day before. Well, it really didn't matter now, Fi surmised, shrugging her shoulders.

"Actually I _had_ met him," she admitted, "I had gone there a day earlier to…do…recon. So I dropped in and spoke to him a while. He was pleasant."

Pearce could barely keep her voice even, "What did you two talk about?"

"Talk about?" repeated Fi, not understanding, "I suppose, mostly about his clown fish. Why?"

"Fiona," Pearce said, trying to calm herself, "Two days before you had arrived in Tampa, we had sent a coded message to Agent McGrath, giving him _your_ description. He had been expecting you."

Fi's eyes became round as she tried to absorb the words, "So he _knew_ who I was the minute I entered the shop?"

Pearce nodded, "Yes."

"Does it change anything?" Fi asked.

"It could," Pearce said, as she watched Fi carefully, "being that the microfilm had never been recovered. We've already taken apart that bookstore and it wasn't with Hunter and he won't tell us where he hid it."

Pearce checked to make sure the recorder was on before she leaned over to Fi, "Agent Glenanne, tell me everything that happened on your visit with Benjamin McGrath."

Fi described her initial visit at the shop with the real McGrath, ending with, "…and then a customer walked in and I purchased the book 'Emma' and left…so then I-…oh, wait, the book…"

"…the book…" repeated Pearce as she leaned forward.

Tom scowled, "the book?"

"Yes, the book." Fi's eyes brightened, "How could I have forgotten? McGrath was the one who had recommended 'Emma' to me! Surely there was a reason he picked that book for me? Do you think there's a chance…"

Pearce sat up, her voice filled with suppressed excitement, "We've got to get our hands on that book!"

Fi started opening up her pocketbook, "I have it right here."

Pearce stared at her in astonishment, "Y-you have it here? You've been carrying it with you all along?"

"Well," stated Fi, as she handed the book over to Pearce, "It's a good read and the spy business can be very boring at times…"

Pearce took the book from Fi and reverently placed it on her desk. She then opened it and proceeded to run her hands carefully over the outside and inside of the book, feeling for any bumps. As she flipped to the back inside cover, her hand suddenly stopped when she felt a slight bump.

She then slowly looked up at Tom and Fi, a look of satisfaction on her face

Tom peered over, "...the microfilm?"

"Can't be certain, of course," Pearce said, "but if this bump I'm feeling is what I think it is, Fi, your courier mission had been a resounding success and Hunter didn't have the last laugh after all. "

"…a success," Fi repeated, looking pleased.

Pearce handed the book back to Fi, "When we raided Cade Estes' compound, we found all the records we needed regarding the names of double agents. We actually don't need the microfilm, but it's nice that it was recovered. Why don't you just take your book back. We won't be needing this."

"Was Agent McGrath married?" Fi seemed to ask randomly.

At that point, Pearce's eyes saddened, "he left behind a wife and two small kids."

Fi nodded, looking at the beautifully gold-embossed leatherbound book, "It's really a lovely book, one that is meant to be cherished. Perhaps you could give it to Mrs. McGrath. Let her know her husband heroically died trying to deliver this to us."

Dani Pearce's eyes were slightly moist as she placed the book carefully back on her desk, "I think Mrs. McGrath will hold dear the last thing her husband had touched. Thank you, Fiona."

Fi reached over and turned off the recorder, "Is this over? I'm quite tired."

"Of course, Agent Glenanne," assured Pearce, "You've done a lot for the CIA, for this country…we are in your debt…the least we can do for you now is I can arrange to have a driver drop you off anywhere you like…so what is your pleasure? The nail salon? Shoe store? Hardware store?"

Fi smiled, "I'd just like to go home," she said at last.

Peace nodded understandably, "Go home to your man, Fiona."

.

.

Fi was in front of her and Michael's loft. She groped in her purse for the key. It seemed a lifetime time since she had last stood here, and it filled her with a sense of awe that the externals of life could remain so unchanged when she felt so different.

Then her thoughts drifted to Michael. They did not have the time to discuss her decision to work for the CIA. And because she had not told him, the results were that Sam had been shot (and that was a bad thing? she thought for an instant) and Michael had been tortured.

She will somehow have to make it up to him.

She managed to open the door soundlessly. As she entered, she stopped when she saw Michael. He had his back to her, reading another one of his files, amidst a circle of light from the light flickering up above.

Fi looked at him through a shimmering layer of reality, realizing for the first time that many of their arguments consisted of her not wanting him to be a spy and only wanting him to be perfect. But that was an impossible order for anyone to fill.

The issue was not that he wanted to be a spy, but that being a spy was who he was. It was all wrapped up with his persona. There was no separating the two.

Growing impatient with herself and her silly complaining in the past, Fi took her tangled emotions firmly in hand.

"Michael?" she said softly.

At the sound of her voice, he shot up from the barstool, as if someone had jabbed him with a red-hot poker. Fi took a step closer to him, as if drawn by a magnetic force. she felt the slamming of her heart at being alone with him again.

"Fi…" he said her name gently, so affectionately.

She felt her pulse racing and the slamming of her heart a the way he had whispered her name. He did not seem upset at her for going behind his back to join the CIA.

She searched his face for a long moment before she said, "I guess I have some explaining to do."

"Yes," he agreed, "Yes, you do have some explaining to do. Like how it was possible that you almost single-handedly brought down an entire criminal network _and_ the most wanted felon in CIA history. Did I get it all?"

Fi never took her eyes off of him, "don't forget that I completed my courier mission, too."

Michael smiled, although he didn't quite understand, "I guess it's the little things that count sometimes."

As he took a step forward, Fi felt her pulse heightened, "And you know what the nicest thing about the mission was?" she asked him.

He was so close to her now that Fi had to compose her heart as it began to thump in a mad rhythm.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding suddenly sensual.

Fi had to tilt her head up, "Coming home to you."

Michael slid his arms around Fi in a now familiar embrace. Wordlessly, Fi went up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. She then lightly touched her lips to the corner of his. His lips seemed to burn at her slight contact.

"Hello, Michael, I'm home from my mission," she greeted him softly. In response, a smile pulled up deep from inside him.

"Hope you had a good day at work, Fi," he gently responded as he brought his head down towards hers.

Michael caught her mouth with his, kissing her with undiluted passion. She was luscious and sweet, her small and firm figure caught firmly in his arms. They kissed even harder, straining together, until Fi whimpered in growing agitation.

Somehow Michael managed to tear his mouth away, his breath coming in steam gusts as he heard the jerking rhythm of her breathing.

He then released her, although his smile never left his face.

"What is it, Michael?" Fi said, as she saw he wanted to tell her something.

"I was so caught up in seeing you," Michael stated, "that I almost forgot… a package arrived for you."

"For me?" Fi had to work at composing her breathing again.

"Yes."

He walked over and reached behind the counter. In his hand was a brown wrapped package. Michael came back to her and presented the package to her.

"What is this?" she inquired.

"All I can tell you is that it came special delivery from Tampa," stated Michael, "I believe the returned address states it is from a _G. Hunter_."

Fi took the package and slowly began undoing the strings and brown paper. The box inside bore the name 'Nemo's Bookstore'" and when she lifted the cover, gasp. Among the wrapped tissue was the book, _How to Keep Your Man._

_Fi recalled that day when she awkwardly grabbed the first book in the bookstore and it was this very book. When Hunter took note of the title, she had recovered by saying it was for a friend._

When she slowly picked up the book, a card had slipped out. Fi grabbed it and turned it over to read it_: I still think your 'friend' will enjoy this book. Gideon Hunter._

Michael scowled at card and then at the book, "Why would he mail this book to you? What could it mean?"

"It means," stated Fi, "that I have just bonded with CIA's most ruthless felon, "

Mike grinned as he looked down at her, "Oh, really?"

"Yes, for bonding is what I do best."

There was a mischievous glint in Michael's eyes as he took her in his arms again and they locked gazes.

"Well, then, Fi," Michael announced, "I believe it now time for _us_ to have some bonding time."

When Michael slanted his mouth over hers once more, he was lost in the sweetness of Fiona Glenanne. Stubborn, feisty, impossible to understand, yet she had become his everything.

And now she had also become his very own little CIA spy.

.

.

_AND it is finished! Thank you for taking the time to read/review to the very end. Special mention must go to my dear friends PurdysPal, Amanda Hawthorn and Jedi Skysinger. I must have done something right in my life to have them as friends!_

_I believe this story will be my swan song, or swan story, i guess (at least that's how I feel now!). I'll be leaving this site, but I couldn't go without saying what a pleasure it has been to be part of such a talented group of writers! They have done such a wonderful job of bringing Michael and company to life._

_Thanks again!_

_Please review._


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